C^tM^me^^ 

University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

From  the  Collection  of 

Joseph  Z.  Todd 

Gift  of 

Hatherly  B.  Todd 

ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

Vol.  XII 

AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

TRAVELS  WITH  A  DONKEY 

EDINBURGH 


^THE  TRAVELS  AND 
ESSAYS  OF  ROBERT 
LOUIS    STEVENSON 


AN  INLAND  VOYAGE 
l\  TRAVELS  WITH  A 
DONKEY  fe  EDINBURGH 


SePUBLISHED  IN 
NEW  YORK  BY 
CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S 
SONS     Sg      g       1907     $ 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

AN  INLAND  VOYAGE '  .    .        i 

TRAVELS    WITH    A    DONKEY    IN    THE 

CEVENNES 139 

EDINBURGH,  PICTURESQUE  NOTES    .     .     281 


AN  INLAND  VOYAGE 

PAGE 

ANTWERP  TO   BOOM 3 

ON   THE  WILLEBROEK  CANAL 8 

THE   ROYAL  SPORT  NAUTIQUE 14 

AT  MAUBEUGE 20 

ON  THE  SAMBRE  CANALIZED:   TO   aUARTES    ....  21 

PONT-SUR-SAMBRE : — 

We  are  Pedlars 31 

The  Travelling  Merchant 37 

ON  THE  SAMBRE  CANALIZED:    TO   LANDRECIES  ...  42 

AT  LANDRECIES 48 

SAMBRE  AND  OISE  CANAL:   CANAL  BOATS       ....  53 

THE  OISE  IN   FLOOD 59 

ORIGNY  SAINTE-BENOiTE:  — 

A  By-day       67 

The  Company  at  Table 74 

DOWN  THE  OISE:  TO  MOV 81 

LA  FERE  OF  CURSED  MEMORY 87 

DOWN  THE  OISE:   THROUGH   THE  GOLDEN   VALLEY  .  93 

NOYON  CATHEDRAL .  96 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

DOWN   THE  OlSE:   TO  COMPIEGNE loi 

AT  COMPIEGNE 104 

CHANGED  TIMES 109 

DOWN  THE  OlSE:  CHURCH   INTERIORS 116 

PRECY   AND  THE  MARIONETTES 123 

BACK  TO  THE  WORLD -134 

TRAVELS  WITH  A  DONKEY 

VELAY 

The  Donkey,  the  Pack,  and  the  Pack-saddle       .     .     .     .143 

The  Green  Donkey-driver 150 

I  HAVE  A  Goad 160 

UPPER  GEVAUDAN 

A  Camp  in  the  Dark 171 

Cheylard  and  Luc 183 

OUR  LADY  OF  THE  SNOWS 

Father  Apollinaris 191 

The  Monks 197 

The  Boarders 206 

UPPER  GEVAUDAN  (continued) 

Across  the  Goulet 215 

A  Night  among  the  Pines 219 

THE  COUNTRY  OF  THE  CAMISARDS 

Across  the  Lozere 227 

Pont  de  Montvert 233 

In  the  Valley  of  the  Tarn 241 

Florac 252 

viii 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

In  the  Valley  of  the  Mimente 256 

The  Heart  of  the  Country 261 

The  Last  Day 269 

Farewell,  Modestine 275 

EDINBURGH 

INTRODUCTORY 281 

OLD  TOWN— THE  LANDS 289 

THE  PARLIAMENT  CLOSE 297 

LEGENDS 304 

GREYFRIARS 312 

NEW  TOWN  — TOWN   AND  COUNTRY 321 

THE  VILLA   QUARTERS 329 

THE  CALTON   HILL 332 

WINTER  AND  NEW  YEAR 340 

TO  THE  PENTLAND  HILLS 348 


9^ 


AN  INLAND  VOYAGE 


PREFACE 

To  equip  so  small  a  book  with  a  preface  is,  I  am  half 
afraid,  to  sin  against  proportion.  But  a  preface  is  more 
than  an  author  can  resist,  for  it  is  the  reward  of  his  labours. 
When  the  foundation  stone  is  laid,  the  architect  appears 
with  his  plans,  and  struts  for  an  hour  before  the  public 
eye.  So  with  the  writer  in  his  preface:  he  may  have 
never  a  word  to  say,  but  he  must  show  himself  for  a 
moment  in  the  portico,  hat  in  hand,  and  with  an  ur- 
bane demeanour. 

It  is  best,  in  such  circumstance,  to  represent  a  delicate 
shade  of  manner  between  humility  and  superiority :  as 
if  the  book  had  been  written  by  some  one  else,  and  you 
had  merely  run  over  it  and  inserted  what  was  good. 
But  for  my  part  I  have  not  yet  learned  the  trick  to  that 
perfection ;  I  am  not  yet  able  to  dissemble  the  warmth 
of  my  sentiments  towards  a  reader;  and  if  1  meet  him  on 
the  threshold,  it  is  to  invite  him  in  with  country  cor- 
diality. 

To  say  truth,  I  had  no  sooner  finished  reading  this 
little  book  in  proof  than  I  was  seized  upon  by  a  dis- 
tressing apprehension. 

It  occurred  to  me  that  I  might  not  only  be  the  first  to 
read  these  pages,  but  the  last  as  well;  that  I  might  have 


PREFACE 

pioneered  this  very  smiling  tract  of  country  all  in  vain, 
and  find  not  a  soul  to  follow  in  my  steps.  The  more  I 
thought,  the  more  I  disliked  the  notion ;  until  the  dis- 
taste grew  into  a  sort  of  panic  terror,  and  I  rushed  into 
this  Preface,  which  is  no  more  than  an  advertisement  for 
readers. 

What  am  I  to  say  for  my  book  ?  Caleb  and  Joshua 
brought  back  from  Palestine  a  formidable  bunch  of 
grapes;  alas!  my  book  produces  naught  so  nourishing; 
and  for  the  matter  of  that,  we  live  in  an  age  when 
people  prefer  a  definition  to  any  quantity  of  fruit. 

I  wonder,  would  a  negative  be  found  enticing  }  for, 
from  the  negative  point  of  view,  I  flatter  myself  this 
volume  has  a  certain  stamp.  Although  it  runs  to  con- 
siderably upwards  of  two  hundred  pages,  it  contains 
not  a  single  reference  to  the  imbecility  of  God's  uni- 
verse, nor  so  much  as  a  single  hint  that  I  could  have 
made  a  better  one  myself, —  I  really  do  not  know  where 
my  head  can  have  been.  I  seemed  to  have  forgotten  all 
that  makes  it  glorious  to  be  man.  Tis  an  omission  that 
renders  the  book  philosophically  unimportant;  but  I  am 
in  hopes  the  eccentricity  may  please  in  frivolous  circles. 

To  the  friend  who  accompanied  me  I  owe  many 
thanks  already,  indeed  I  wish  I  owed  him  nothing  else; 
but  at  this  moment  I  feel  towards  him  an  almost  ex- 
aggerated tenderness.  He,  at  least,  will  become  my 
reader  —  if  it  were  only  to  follow  his  own  travels  along- 
side of  mine. 

R.  L.  S. 


ANTWERP  TO  BOOM 

WE  made  a  great  stir  in  Antwerp  Docks,  A  steve- 
dore and  a  lot  of  dock  porters  took  up  the  two 
canoes,  and  ran  witli  them  for  the  slip.  A  crowd  of 
children  followed  cheering.  The  Cigarette  went  off  in 
a  splash  and  a  bubble  of  small  breaking  water.  Next 
moment  the  Arethusa  was  after  her.  A  steamer  was 
coming  down,  men  on  the  paddle-box  shouted  hoarse 
warnings,  the  stevedore  and  his  porters  were  bawling 
from  the  quay.  But  in  a  stroke  or  two  the  canoes  were 
away  out  in  the  middle  of  the  Scheldt,  and  all  steamers, 
and  stevedores,  and  other  'long-shore  vanities  were  left 
behind. 

The  sun  shone  brightly;  the  tide  was  making  —  four 
jolly  miles  an  hour;  the  wind  blew  steadily,  with  occa- 
sional squalls.  For  my  part,  I  had  never  been  in  a  canoe 
under  sail  in  my  life ;  and  my  first  experiment  out  in 
the  middle  of  this  big  river  was  not  made  without  some 
trepidation.  What  would  happen  when  the  wind  first 
caught  my  little  canvas  ?  I  suppose  it  was  almost  as 
trying  a  venture  into  the  regions  of  the  unknown  as  to 
publish  a  first  book,  or  to  marry.  But  my  doubts  were 
not  of  long  duration;  and  in  five  minutes  you  will  not 
be  surprised  to  learn  that  I  had  tied  my  sheet. 

3 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

I  own  I  was  a  little  struck  by  this  circumstance  my- 
self; of  course,  in  company  with  the  rest  of  my  fellow- 
men,  I  had  always  tied  the  sheet  in  a  sailing-boat;  but 
in  so  little  and  crank  a  concern  as  a  canoe,  and  with 
these  charging  squalls,  I  was  not  prepared  to  find  my- 
self follow  the  same  principle;  and  it  inspired  me  with 
some  contemptuous  views  of  our  regard  for  life.  It  is 
certainly  easier  to  smoke  with  the  sheet  fastened ;  but  1 
had  never  before  weighed  a  comfortable  pipe  of  tobacco 
against  an  obvious  risk,  and  gravely  elected  for  the  com- 
fortable pipe.  It  is  a  commonplace,  that  we  cannot 
answer  for  ourselves  before  we  have  been  tried.  But  it 
is  not  so  common  a  reflection,  and  surely  more  consol- 
ing, that  we  usually  find  ourselves  a  great  deal  braver 
and  better  than  we  thought.  I  believe  this  is  every  one's 
experience:  but  an  apprehension  that  they  may  belie 
themselves  in  the  future  prevents  mankind  from  trum- 
peting this  cheerful  sentiment  abroad.  I  wish  sincerely, 
for  it  would  have  saved  me  much  trouble,  there  had 
been  some  one  to  put  me  in  a  good  heart  about  life  when 
I  was  younger;  to  tell  me  how  dangers  are  most  por- 
tentous on  a  distant  sight;  and  how  the  good  in  a  man's 
spirit  will  not  suffer  itself  to  be  overlaid,  and  rarely  or 
never  deserts  him  in  the  hour  of  need.  But  we  are  all 
for  tootling  on  the  sentimental  flute  in  literature;  and  not 
a  man  among  us  will  go  to  the  head  of  the  march  to 
sound  the  heady  drums. 

It  was  agreeable  upon  the  river.  A  barge  or  two  went 
past  laden  with  hay.  Reeds  and  willows  bordered  the 
stream ;  and  cattle  and  gray,  venerable  horses  came  and 
hung  their  mild  heads  over  the  embankment.  Here  and 
there  was  a  pleasant  village  among  trees,  with  a  noisy 

4 


ANTWERP  TO   BOOM 

shipping  yard ;  here  and  there  a  villa  in  a  lawn.  The 
wind  served  us  well  up  the  Scheldt  and  thereafter  up  the 
Rupel;  and  we  were  running  pretty  free  when  we  be- 
gan to  sight  the  brickyards  of  Boom,  lying  for  a  long 
way  on  the  right  bank  of  the  river.  The  left  bank  was 
still  green  and  pastoral,  with  alleys  of  trees  along  the 
embankment,  and  here  and  there  a  flight  of  steps  to 
serve  a  ferry,  where  perhaps  there  sat  a  woman  with 
her  elbows  on  her  knees,  or  an  old  gentleman  with  a 
staff  and  silver  spectacles.  But  Boom  and  its  brickyards 
grew  smokier  and  shabbier  with  every  minute ;  until  a 
great  church  with  a  clock,  and  a  wooden  bridge  over 
the  river,  indicated  the  central  quarters  of  the  town. 

Boom  is  not  a  nice  place,  and  is  only  remarkable  for 
one  thing:  that  the  majority  of  the  inhabitants  have  a 
private  opinion  that  they  can  speak  English,  which  is 
not  justified  by  fact.  This  gave  a  kind  of  haziness  to 
our  intercourse.  As  for  the  Hotel  de  la  Navigation,  I 
think  it  is  the  worst  feature  of  the  place.  It  boasts  of  a 
sanded  parlour,  with  a  bar  at  one  end,  looking  on  the 
street;  and  another  sanded  parlour,  darker  and  colder, 
with  an  empty  bird-cage  and  a  tricolor  subscription  box 
by  way  of  sole  adornment,  where  we  made  shift  to  dine 
in  the  company  of  three  uncommunicative  engineer  ap- 
prentices and  a  silent  bagman.  The  food,  as  usual  in 
Belgium,  was  of  a  nondescript  occasional  character;  in- 
deed 1  have  never  been  able  to  detect  anything  in  the 
nature  of  a  meal  among  this  pleasing  people;  they  seem 
to  peck  and  trifle  with  viands  all  day  long  in  an  amateur 
spirit:  tentatively  French,  truly  German,  and  somehow 
falling  between  the  two. 

The  empty  bird-cage,  swept  and  garnished,  and  with 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

no  trace  of  the  old  piping  favourite,  save  where  two 
wires  had  been  pushed  apart  to  hold  its  lump  of  sugar, 
carried  with  it  a  sort  of  graveyard  cheer.  The  engineer 
apprentices  would  have  nothing  to  say  to  us,  nor  in- 
deed to  the  bagman ;  but  talked  low  and  sparingly  to 
one  another,  or  raked  us  in  the  gaslight  with  a  gleam  of 
spectacles.  For  though  handsome  lads,  they  were  all 
(in  the  Scotch  phrase)  barnacled. 

There  was  an  English  maid  in  the  hotel,  who  had 
been  long  enough  out  of  England  to  pick  up  all  sorts  of 
funny  foreign  idioms,  and  all  sorts  of  curious  foreign 
ways,  which  need  not  here  be  specified.  She  spoke  to 
us  very  fluently  in  her  jargon,  asked  us  information  as 
to  the  manners  of  the  present  day  in  England,  and  oblig- 
ingly corrected  us  when  we  attempted  to  answer.  But 
as  we  were  dealing  with  a  woman,  perhaps  our  infor- 
mation was  not  so  much  thrown  away  as  it  appeared. 
The  sex  likes  to  pick  up  knowledge  and  yet  preserve  its 
superiority.  It  is  good  policy,  and  almost  necessary  in 
the  circumstances.  If  a  man  finds  a  woman  admires 
%^^  him,  were  it  only  for  his  acquaintance  with  geography, 
he  will  begin  at  once  to  build  upon  the  admiration.  It 
is  only  by  unintermittent  snubbing  that  the  pretty  ones 
can  keep  us  in  our  place.  Men,  as  Miss  Howe  or  Miss 
Marlowe  would  have  said,  *'  are  such  encroachers. "  For 
my  part,  I  am  body  and  soul  with  the  women ;  and  after 
a  well-married  couple,  there  is  nothing  so  beautiful  in 
the  world  as  the  myth  of  the  divine  huntress.  It  is 
no  use  for  a  man  to  take  to  the  woods;  we  know 
him ;  Anthony  tried  the  same  thing  long  ago,  and 
had  a  pitiful  time  of  it  by  all  accounts.  But  there  is 
this  about  some  women,  which  overtops  the  best  gym- 

6 


ANTWERP  TO   BOOM 

nosophist  among  men,  that  they  suffice  to  themselves, 
and  can  walk  in  a  high  and  cold  zone  without  the 
countenance  of  any  trousered  being.  I  declare,  although 
the  reverse  of  a  professed  ascetic,  1  am  more  obliged  to 
women  for  this  ideal  than  I  should  be  to  the  majority 
of  them,  or  indeed  to  any  but  one,  for  a  spontaneous 
kiss.  There  is  nothing  so  encouraging  as  the  spectacle 
of  self-sufficiency.  And  when  I  think  of  the  slim  and 
lovely  maidens,  running  the  woods  all  night  to  the 
note  of  Diana's  horn ;  moving  among  the  old  oaks,  as 
fancy-free  as  they ;  things  of  the  forest  and  the  starlight, 
not  touched  by  the  commotion  of  man's  hot  and  tur- 
bid life  —  although  there  are  plenty  other  ideals  that  I 
should  prefer  —  1  find  my  heart  beat  at  the  thought  of 
this  one.  'Tis  to  fail  in  life,  but  to  fail  with  what  a 
grace !  That  is  not  lost  which  is  not  regretted.  And 
where  —  here  slips  out  the  male  —  where  would  be 
much  of  the  glory  of  inspiring  love,  if  there  were  no 
contempt  to  overcome  ? 


ON  THE  WILLEBROEK  CANAL 

Next  morning,  when  we  set  forth  on  the  Willebroek 
Canal,  the  rain  began  heavy  and  chill.  The  water  of 
the  canal  stood  at  about  the  drinking  temperature  of 
tea;  and  under  this  cold  aspersion,  the  surface  was  cov- 
ered with  steam.  The  exhilaration  of  departure,  and 
the  easy  motion  of  the  boats  under  each  stroke  of  the 
paddles,  supported  us  through  this  misfortune  while  it 
lasted;  and  when  the  cloud  passed  and  the  sun  came 
out  again,  our  spirits  went  up  above  the  range  of  stay- 
at-home  humours.  A  good  breeze  rustled  and  shivered 
in  the  rows  of  trees  that  bordered  the  canal.  The  leaves 
flickered  in  and  out  of  the  light  in  tumultuous  masses. 
It  seemed  sailing  weather  to  eye  and  ear;  but  down  be- 
tween the  banks,  the  wind  reached  us  only  in  faint  and 
desultory  puffs.  There  was  hardly  enough  to  steer  by. 
Progress  was  intermittent  and  unsatisfactory.  A  jocu- 
lar person,  of  marine  antecedents,  hailed  us  from  the 
tow-path  with  a  "'  C'estvite,  mats  c' est  long.'' 

The  canal  was  busy  enough.  Every  now  and  then 
we  met  or  overtook  a  long  string  of  boats,  with  great 
green  tillers;  high  sterns  with  a  window  on  either  side 
of  the  rudder,  and  perhaps  a  jug  or  a  flower-pot  in  one 
of  the  windows ;  a  dingy  following  behind ;  a  woman 

8 


ON   THE   WILLEBROEK   CANAL 

busied  about  the  day's  dinner,  and  a  handful  of  children. 
These  barges  were  all  tied  one  behind  the  other  with 
tow  ropes,  to  the  number  of  twenty-five  or  thirty;  and 
the  line  was  headed  and  kept  in  motion  by  a  steamer 
of  strange  construction.  It  had  neither  paddle-wheel 
nor  screw ;  but  by  some  gear  not  rightly  comprehensi- 
ble to  the  unmechanical  mind,  it  fetched  up  over  its  bow 
a  small  bright  chain  which  lay  along  the  bottom  of  the 
canal,  and  paying  it  out  again  over  the  stern,  dragged 
itself  forward,  link  by  link,  with  its  whole  retinue  of 
loaded  scows.  Until  one  had  found  out  the  key  to  the 
enigma,  there  was  something  solemn  and  uncomfortable 
in  the  progress  of  one  of  these  trains,  as  it  moved  gently 
along  the  water  with  nothing  to  mark  its  advance  but 
an  eddy  alongside  dying  away  into  the  wake. 

Of  all  the  creatures  of  commercial  enterprise,  a  canal 
barge  is  by  far  the  most  delightful  to  consider.  It  may 
spread  its  sails,  and  then  you  see  it  sailing  high  above 
the  tree-tops  and  the  wind-mill,  sailing  on  the  aqueduct, 
sailing  through  the  green  corn-lands :  the  most  pictur- 
esque of  things  amphibious.  Or  the  horse  plods  along 
at  a  foot-pace  as  if  there  were  no  such  thing  as  business 
in  the  world ;  and  the  man  dreaming  at  the  tiller  sees 
the  same  spire  on  the  horizon  all  day  long.  It  is  a  mys- 
tery how  things  ever  get  to  their  destination  at  this  rate ; 
and  to  see  the  barges  waiting  their  turn  at  a  lock,  affords 
a  fine  lesson  of  how  easily  the  world  may  be  taken. 
There  should  be  many  contented  spirits  on  board,  for 
such  a  life  is  both  to  travel  and  to  stay  at  home. 

The  chimney  smokes  for  dinner  as  you  go  along; 
the  banks  of  the  canal  slowly  unroll  their  scenery  to 
contemplative  eyes;   the  barge  floats  by  great  forests 

9 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

and  through  great  cities  with  their  public  buildings  and 
their  lamps  at  night;  and  for  the  bargee,  in  his  floating 
home,  ''travelling  abed,"  it  is  merely  as  if  he  were 
listening  to  another  man's  story  or  turning  the  leaves 
of  a  picture  book  in  which  he  had  no  concern.  He  may 
take  his  afternoon  walk  in  some  foreign  country  on  the 
banks  of  the  canal,  and  then  come  home  to  dinner  at  his 
own  fireside. 

There  is  not  enough  exercise  in  such  a  life  for  any 
high  measure  of  health ;  but  a  high  measure  of  health  is 
only  necessary  for  unhealthy  people.  The  slug  of  a  fel- 
low, who  is  never  ill  nor  well,  has  a  quiet  time  of  it  in 
life,  and  dies  all  the  easier. 

I  am  sure  I  would  rather  be  a  bargee  than  occupy  any 
position  under  Heaven  that  required  attendance  at  an 
office.  There  are  few  callings,  I  should  say,  where  a 
man  gives  up  less  of  his  liberty  in  return  for  regular 
meals.  The  bargee  is  on  shipboard;  he  is  master  in 
his  own  ship;  he  can  land  whenever  he  will;  he  can 
never  be  kept  beating  off  a  lee-shore  a  whole  frosty 
night  when  the  sheets  are  as  hard  as  iron ;  and  so  far  as 
I  can  make  out,  time  stands  as  nearly  still  with  him  as 
is  compatible  with  the  return  of  bedtime  or  the  dinner- 
hour.  It  is  not  easy  to  see  why  a  bargee  should  ever 
die. 

Half-way  between  IVillebroek  and  Villevorde,  in  a 
beautiful  reach  of  canal  like  a  squire's  avenue,  we  went 
ashore  to  lunch.  There  were  two  eggs,  a  junk  of  bread, 
and  a  bottle  of  wine  on  board  the  Arethusa;  and  two 
eggs  and  an  Etna  cooking  apparatus  on  board  the  Ciga- 
rette. The  master  of  the  latter  boat  smashed  one  of  the 
eggs  in  the  course  of  disembarkation;   but  observing 

lO 


ON  THE  WILLEBROEK  CANAL 

pleasantly  that  it  might  still  be  cooked  d  la  papier,  he 
dropped  it  into  the  Etna,  in  its  covering  of  Flemish 
newspaper.  We  landed  in  a  blink  of  fine  weather;  but 
we  had  not  been  two  minutes  ashore  before  the  wind 
freshened  into  half  a  gale,  and  the  rain  began  to  patter 
on  our  shoulders.  We  sat  as  close  about  the  Etna  as 
we  could.  The  spirits  burned  with  great  ostentation ; 
the  grass  caught  flame  every  minute  or  two,  and  had 
to  be  trodden  out ;  and  before  long  there  were  several 
burnt  fingers  of  the  party.  But  the  solid  quantity  of 
cookery  accomplished  was  out  of  proportion  with  so 
much  display ;  and  when  we  desisted,  after  two  appli- 
cations of  the  fire,  the  sound  egg  was  a  little  more  than 
loo-warm ;  and  as  for  d  la  papier,  it  was  a  cold  and  sor- 
did fricassee  of  printer's  ink  and  broken  egg-shell.  We 
made  shift  to  roast  the  other  two  by  putting  them  close 
to  the  burning  spirits,  and  that  with  better  success. 
And  then  we  uncorked  the  bottle  of  wine,  and  sat  down 
in  a  ditch  with  our  canoe  aprons  over  our  knees.  It 
rained  smartly.  Discomfort,  when  it  is  honestly  un- 
comfortable and  makes  no  nauseous  pretensions  to  the 
contrary,  is  a  vastly  humorous  business;  and  people 
well  steeped  and  stupefied  in  the  open  air  are  in  a  good 
vein  for  laughter.  From  this  point  of  view,  even  egg  d 
la  papier  offered  by  way  of  food  may  pass  muster  as  a 
sort  of  accessory  to  the  fun.  But  this  manner  of  jest, 
although  it  may  be  taken  in  good  part,  does  not  invite 
repetition ;  and  from  that  time  forward  the  Etna  voyaged 
like  a  gentleman  in  the  locker  of  the  Cigarette. 

It  is  almost  unnecessary  to  mention  that  when  lunch 
was  over  and  we  got  aboard  again  and  made  sail,  the 
wind  promptly  died  away.     The  rest  of  the  journey  to 

ii 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

yUlevorde  we  still  spread  our  canvas  to  the  unfavoring 
air,  and  with  now  and  then  a  puff,  and  now  and  then 
a  spell  of  paddling,  drifted  along  from  lock  to  lock  be- 
tween the  orderly  trees. 

It  was  a  fine,  green,  fat  landscape,  or  rather  a  mere 
green  water-lane  going  on  from  village  to  village. 
Things  had  a  settled  look,  as  in  places  long  lived  in. 
Crop-headed  children  spat  upon  us  from  the  bridges  as 
we  went  below,  with  a  true  conservative  feeling.  But 
even  more  conservative  were  the  fishermen,  intent  upon 
their  floats,  who  let  us  go  by  without  one  glance.  They 
perched  upon  sterlings  and  buttresses  and  along  the 
slope  of  the  embankment,  gently  occupied.  They  were 
indifferent  like  pieces  of  dead  nature.  They  did  not 
move  any  more  than  if  they  had  been  fishing  in  an  old 
Dutch  print.  The  leaves  fluttered,  the  water  lapped, 
but  they  continued  in  one  stay,  like  so  many  churches 
established  by  law.  You  might  have  trepanned  every 
one  of  their  innocent  heads  and  found  no  more  than  so 
much  coiled  fishing  line  below  their  skulls.  I  do  not 
care  for  your  stalwart  fellows  in  India-rubber  stockings 
breasting  up  mountain  torrents  with  a  salmon  rod ;  but 
I  do  dearly  love  the  class  of  man  who  plies  his  un- 
fruitful art  forever  and  a  day  by  still  and  depopulated 
waters. 

At  the  lock  just  beyond  Villevorde  there  was  a  lock 
mistress  who  spoke  French  comprehensibly,  and  told  us 
we  were  still  a  couple  of  leagues  from  Brussels.  At  the 
same  place  the  rain  began  again.  It  fell  in  straight,  par- 
allel lines,  and  the  surface  of  the  canal  was  thrown  up 
into  an  infinity  of  little  crystal  fountains.  There  were 
no  beds  to  be  had  in  the  neighbourhood.    Nothing  for  it 


ON   THE  WILLEBROEK  CANAL 

but  to  lay  the  sails  aside  and  address  ourselves  to  steady 
paddling  in  the  rain. 

Beautiful  country  houses,  with  clocks  and  long  lines 
of  shuttered  windows,  and  fine  old  trees  standing  in 
groves  and  avenues,  gave  a  rich  and  sombre  aspect  in 
the  rain  and  the  deepening  dusk  to  the  shores  of  the 
canal.  I  seem  to  have  seen  something  of  the  same  effect 
in  engravings:  opulent  landscapes,  deserted  and  over- 
hung with  the  passage  of  storm.  And  throughout  we 
had  the  escort  of  a  hooded  cart,  which  trotted  shabbily 
along  the  tow-path,  and  kept  at  an  almost  uniform  dis- 
tance in  our  wake. 


THE  ROYAL  SPORT  NAUTiaUE 

The  rain  took  off  near  Laeken.  But  the  sun  was  al- 
ready down ;  the  air  was  chill ;  and  we  had  scarcely  a 
dry  stitch  between  the  pair  of  us.  Nay,  now  we  found 
ourselves  near  the  end  of  the  AMe  Verte,  and  on  the 
very  threshold  oi  Brussels  we  were  confronted  by  a  seri- 
ous difficulty.  The  shores  were  closely  lined  by  canal 
boats  waiting  their  turn  at  the  lock.  Nowhere  was 
there  any  convenient  landing  place;  nowhere  so  much 
as  a  stable-yard  to  leave  the  canoes  in  for  the  night. 
We  scrambled  ashore  and  entered  an  estaminet  where 
some  sorry  fellows  were  drinking  with  the  landlord. 
The  landlord  was  pretty  round  with  us ;  he  knew  of  no 
coach-house  or  stable-yard,  nothing  of  the  sort;  and 
seeing  we  had  come  with  no  mind  to  drink,  he  did  not 
conceal  his  impatience  to  be  rid  of  us.  One  of  the  sorry 
fellows  came  to  the  rescue.  Somewhere  in  the  corner 
of  the  basin  there  was  a  slip,  he  informed  us,  and  some- 
thing else  besides,  not  very  clearly  defined  by  him,  but 
hopefully  construed  by  his  hearers. 

Sure  enough  there  was  the  slip  in  the  corner  of  the 
basin ;  and  at  the  top  of  it  two  nice-looking  lads  in  boat- 
ing clothes.  The  Arethusa  addressed  himself  to  these. 
One  of  them  said  there  wculd  be  no  difficulty  about  a 

M 


THE   ROYAL  SPORT  NAUTIQUE 

night's  lodging  for  our  boats;  and  the  other,  taking  a 
cigarette  from  his  lips,  inquired  if  they  were  made  by 
Searle  &-  Son.  The  name  was  quite  an  introduction. 
Half  a  dozen  other  young  men  came  out  of  a  boat-house 
bearing  the  superscription  Royal  Sport  Nautiq.ue,  and 
joined  in  the  talk.  They  were  all  very  polite,  voluble, 
and  enthusiastic;  and  their  discourse  was  interlarded 
with  English  boating  terms,  and  the  names  of  English 
boat-builders  and  English  clubs.  I  do  not  know,  to  my 
shame,  any  spot  in  my  native  land  where  I  should  have 
been  so  warmly  received  by  the  same  number  of  people. 
We  were  English  boating-men,  and  the  Belgian  boat- 
ing-men fell  upon  our  necks.  I  wonder  if  French  Hu- 
guenots were  as  cordially  greeted  by  English  Protest- 
ants when  they  came  across  the  Channel  out  of  great 
tribulation.  But,  after  all,  what  religion  knits  people  so 
closely  as  common  sport  ? 

The  canoes  were  carried  into  the  boat-house;  they 
were  washed  down  for  us  by  the  club  servants,  the 
sails  were  hung  out  to  dry,  and  everything  made  as 
snug  and  tidy  as  a  picture.  And  in  the  mean  while  we 
were  led  up-stairs  by  our  new-found  brethren,  for  so 
more  than  one  of  them  stated  the  relationship,  and  made 
free  of  their  lavatory.  This  one  lent  us  soap,  that  one  a 
towel,  a  third  and  fourth  helped  us  to  undo  our  bags. 
And  all  the  time  such  questions,  such  assurances  of  re- 
spect and  sympathy !  I  declare  I  never  knew  what  glory 
was  before. 

"Yes,  yes,  the  Royal  Sport  Nautique  is  the  oldest  club 
in  Belgium.'' 

**  We  number  two  hundred." 

*'We"  —  this  is  not  a  substantive  speech,  but  an  ab- 

J5 


AN    INLAND   VOYAGE 

stract  of  many  speeches,  the  impression  left  upon  my 
mind  after  a  great  deal  of  talk;  and  very  youthful,  pleas- 
ant, natural,  and  patriotic  it  seems  to  me  to  be —  '*  We 
have  gained  all  races,  except  those  where  we  were 
cheated  by  the  French." 

**You  must  leave  all  your  wet  things  to  be  dried." 

"  O !  entre  freres  !  In  any  boat-house  in  England  we 
should  find  the  same."     (1  cordially  hope  they  might.) 

''En  Angleterre,  vous  employe^  des  sliding  seats, 
nest-ce  pas?" 

"We  are  all  employed  in  commerce  during  the  day; 
but  in  the  evening,  voye^-vous,  nous  sommes  serieux." 

These  were  the  words.  They  were  all  employed 
over  the  frivolous  mercantile  concerns  of  Belgitim  during 
the  day ;  but  in  the  evening  they  found  some  hours  for 
the  serious  concerns  of  life.  I  may  have  a  wrong  idea 
of  wisdom,  but  I  think  that  was  a  very  wise  remark. 
People  connected  with  literature  and  philosophy  are 
busy  all  their  days  in  getting  rid  of  second-hand  notions 
and  false  standards.  It  is  their  profession,  in  the  sweat 
of  their  brows,  by  dogged  thinking,  to  recover  their  old 
fresh  view  of  life,  and  distinguish  what  they  really  and 
originally  like  from  what  they  have  only  learned  to 
tolerate  perforce.  And  these  Royal  Nautical  Sportsmen 
had  the  distinction  still  quite  legible  in  their  hearts. 
They  had  still  those  clean  perceptions  of  what  is  nice 
and  nasty,  what  is  interesting  and  what  is  dull,  which 
envious  old  gentlemen  refer  to  as  illusions.  The  night- 
mare illusion  of  middle  age,  the  bear's  hug  of  custom 
gradually  squeezing  the  life  out  of  a  man's  soul,  had  not 
yet  begun  for  these  happy-star'd  young  Belgians,  They 
still  knew  that  the  interest  they  took  in  their  business  was 

i6 


THE  ROYAL  SPORT  NAUTIQUE 

a  trifling  affair  compared  to  their  spontaneous,  long-suf- 
fering affection  for  nautical  sports.  To  know  what 
you  prefer,  instead  of  humbly  saying  Amen  to  what  the 
world  tells  you  you  ought  to  prefer,  is  to  have  kept 
your  soul  alive.  Such  a  man  may  be  generous ;  he  may 
be  honest  in  something  more  than  the  commercial  sense; 
he  may  love  his  friends  with  an  elective,  personal  sym- 
pathy, and  not  accept  them  as  an  adjunct  of  the  station 
to  which  he  has  been  called.  He  may  be  a  man,  in  short, 
acting  on  his  own  instincts,  keeping  in  his  own  shape 
that  God  made  him  in ;  and  not  a  mere  crank  in  the 
social  engine  house,  welded  on  principles  that  he  does 
not  understand,  and  for  purposes  that  he  does  not  care  for. 
For  will  any  one  dare  to  tell  me  that  business  is  more 
entertaining  than  fooling  among  boats?  He  must  have 
never  seen  a  boat,  or  never  seen  an  office,  who  says  so. 
And  for  certain  the  one  is  a  great  deal  better  for  the 
health.  There  should  be  nothing  so  much  a  man's  busi- 
ness as  his  amusements.  Nothing  but  money-grubbing 
can  be  put  forward  to  the  contrary ;  no  one  but 

Mammon,  the  least  erected  spirit  that  fell 
From  Heaven, 

durst  risk  a  word  in  answer.  It  is  but  a  lying  cant  that 
would  represent  the  merchant  and  the  banker  as  people 
disinterestedly  toiling  for  mankind,  and  then  most  use- 
ful when  they  are  most  absorbed  in  their  transactions ; 
for  the  man  is  more  important  than  his  services.  And 
when  my  Royal  Nautical  Sportsman  shall  have  so  far 
fallen  from  his  hopeful  youth  that  he  cannot  pluck  up 
an  enthusiasm  over  anything  but  his  ledger,  I  venture 
to  doubt  whether  he  will  be  near  so  nice  a  fellow,  and 

»7 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

whether  he  would  welcome,  with  so  good  a  grace,  a 
couple  of  drenched  Englishmen  paddling  into  Brmsels 
in  the  dusk. 

When  we  had  changed  our  wet  clothes  and  drunk  a 
glass  of  pale  ale  to  the  club's  prosperity,  one  of  their 
number  escorted  us  to  a  hotel.  He  would  not  join  us 
at  our  dinner,  but  he  had  no  objection  to  a  glass  of  wine. 
Enthusiasm  is  very  wearing;  and  I  begin  to  understand 
why  prophets  were  unpopular  in  Judcea,  where  they 
were  best  known.  For  three  stricken  hours  did  this 
excellent  young  man  sit  beside  us  to  dilate  on  boats  and 
boat-races;  and  before  he  left,  he  was  kind  enough  to 
order  our  bedroom  candles. 

We  endeavoured  now  and  again  to  change  the  sub- 
ject; but  the  diversion  did  not  last  a  moment:  the  Royal 
Nautical  Sportsman  bridled,  shied,  answered  the  ques- 
tion, and  then  breasted  once  more  into  the  swelling  tide 
of  his  subject.  I  call  it  his  subject;  but  I  think  it  was  he 
who  was  subjected.  The  Arethusa,  who  holds  all  rac- 
ing as  a  creature  of  the  devil,  found  himself  in  a  pitiful 
dilemma.  He  durst  not  own  his  ignorance  for  the  honour 
of  old  England,  and  spoke  away  about  English  clubs  and 
English  oarsmen  whose  fame  had  never  before  come  to 
his  ears.  Several  times,  and  once,  above  all,  on  the  ques- 
tion of  sliding-seats,  he  was  within  an  ace  of  exposure. 
As  for  the  Cigarette,  who  has  rowed  races  in  the  heat 
of  his  blood,  but  now  disowns  these  slips  of  his  wanton 
youth,  his  case  was  still  more  desperate;  for  the  Royal 
Nautical  proposed  that  he  should  take  an  oar  in  one  of 
their  eights  on  the  morrow,  to  compare  the  English  with 
the  Belgian  stroke.  I  could  see  my  friend  perspiring  in 
his  chair  whenever  that  particular  topic  came  up.    And 

i8 


THE   ROYAL  SPORT  NAUTIQUE 

there  was  yet  another  proposal  which  had  the  same  effect 
on  both  of  us.  It  appeared  that  the  champion  canoeist  of 
Europe  (as  well  as  most  other  champions)  was  a  Royal 
Nautical  Sportsman.  And  if  we  would  only  wait  until 
the  Sunday,  this  infernal  paddler  would  be  so  conde- 
scending as  to  accompany  us  on  our  next  stage.  Neither 
of  us  had  the  least  desire  to  drive  the  coursers  of  the  sun 
against  Apollo. 

When  the  young  man  was  gone,  we  countermanded 
our  candles,  and  ordered  some  brandy  and  water.  The 
great  billows  had  gone  over  our  head.  The  Royal 
Nautical  Sportsmen  were  as  nice  young  fellows  as  a 
man  would  wish  to  see,  but  they  were  a  trifle  too  young 
and  a  thought  too  nautical  for  us.  We  began  to  see 
that  we  were  old  and  cynical ;  we  liked  ease  and  the 
agreeable  rambling  of  the  human  mind  about  this  and 
the  other  subject;  we  did  not  want  to  disgrace  our  na- 
tive land  by  messing  at  eight,  or  toiling  pitifully  in  the 
wake  of  the  champion  canoeist.  In  short,  we  had  re- 
course to  flight.  It  seemed  ungrateful,  but  we  tried  to 
make  that  good  on  a  card  loaded  with  sincere  compli- 
ments. And  indeed  it  was  no  time  for  scruples;  we 
seemed  to  feel  the  hot  breath  of  the  champion  on  our 
necks. 


19 


AT  MAUBEUGE 

Partly  from  the  terror  we  had  of  our  good  friends 
the  Royal  Nauticals,  partly  from  the  fact  that  there  were 
no  fewer  than  fifty-five  locks  between  Brussels  and 
Charleroi,  we  concluded  that  we  should  travel  by  train 
across  the  frontier,  boats  and  all.  Fifty-five  locks  in  a 
day's  journey  was  pretty  well  tantamount  to  trudging 
the  whole  distance  on  foot,  with  the  canoes  upon  our 
shoulders,  an  object  of  astonishment  to  the  trees  on  the 
canal  side,  and  of  honest  derision  to  all  right-thinking 
children. 

To  pass  the  frontier,  even  in  a  train,  is  a  difficult 
matter  for  the  Arethusa,  He  is,  somehow  or  other,  a 
marked  man  for  the  official  eye.  Wherever  he  journeys^ 
there  are  the  officers  gathered  together.  Treaties  are 
solemnly  signed,  foreign  ministers,  ambassadors,  and 
consuls  sit  throned  in  state  from  China  to  Peru,  and  the 
Union  Jack  flutters  on  all  the  winds  of  heaven.  Under 
these  safeguards,  portly  clergymen,  school-mistresses, 
gentlemen  in  gray  tweed  suits,  and  all  the  ruck  and 
rabble  of  British  touristry  pour  unhindered,  Murray  in 
hand,  over  the  railways  of  the  Continent,  and  yet  the 
slim  person  of  the  Arethusa  is  taken  in  the  meshes, 
while  these  great  fish  go  on  their  way  rejoicing.     If  he 


AT   MAUBEUGE 

travels  without  a  passport,  he  is  cast,  without  any 
figure  about  the  matter,  into  noisome  dungeons :  if  his 
papers  are  in  order,  he  is  suffered  to  go  his  way  indeed, 
but  not  until  he  has  been  humiliated  by  a  general  in- 
credulity. He  is  a  born  British  subject,  yet  he  has  never 
succeeded  in  persuading  a  single  official  of  his  nation- 
ality. He  flatters  himself  he  is  indifferent  honest;  yet 
he  is  rarely  known  for  anything  better  than  a  spy,  and 
there  is  no  absurd  and  disreputable  means  of  livelihood 
but  has  been  attributed  to  him  in  some  heat  of  official 
or  popular  distrust.  .  .  . 

For  the  life  of  me  I  cannot  understand  it.  I,  too,  have 
been  knolled  to  church  and  sat  at  good  men's  feasts,  but 
I  bear  no  mark  of  it.  I  am  as  strange  as  a  Jack  Indian 
to  their  official  spectacles.  I  might  come  from  any  part 
of  the  globe,  it  seems,  except  from  where  I  do.  My 
ancestors  have  laboured  in  vain,  and  the  glorious  Con- 
stitution cannot  protect  me  in  my  walks  abroad.  It  is 
a  great  thing,  believe  me,  to  present  a  good  normal  type 
of  the  nation  you  belong  to. 

Nobody  else  was  asked  for  his  papers  on  the  way  to 
Maubeuge,  but  I  was ;  and  although  I  clung  to  my  rights, 
I  had  to  choose  at  last  between  accepting  the  humilia- 
tion and  being  left  behind  by  the  train.  I  was  sorry  to 
give  way,  but  I  wanted  to  get  to  Maubeuge. 

Maubeuge  is  a  fortified  town  with  a  very  good  inn, 
the  Grand  Cerf.  It  seemed  to  be  inhabited  principally 
by  soldiers  and  bagmen ;  at  least,  these  were  all  that  we 
saw  except  the  hotel  servants.  We  had  to  stay  there 
some  time,  for  the  canoes  were  in  no  hurry  to  follow  us, 
and  at  last  stuck  hopelessly  in  the  custom-house  until 
we  went  back  to  liberate  them.     There  was  nothing  to 

21 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

do,  nothing  to  see.  We  had  good  meals,  which  was  a 
great  matter,  but  that  was  all. 

The  Cigarette  was  nearly  taken  up  upon  a  charge  of 
drawing  the  fortifications :  a  feat  of  which  he  was  hope- 
lessly incapable.  And  besides,  as  I  suppose  each  belli- 
gerent nation  has  a  plan  of  the  other's  fortified  places 
already,  these  precautions  are  of  the  nature  of  shutting 
the  stable  door  after  the  steed  is  away.  But  I  have  no 
doubt  they  help  to  keep  up  a  good  spirit  at  home.  It  is 
a  great  thing  if  you  can  persuade  people  that  they  are 
somehow  or  other  partakers  in  a  mystery.  It  makes  them 
feel  bigger.  Even  the  Freemasons,  who  have  been 
shown  up  to  satiety,  preserve  a  kind  of  pride ;  and  not 
a  grocer  among  them,  however  honest,  harmless,  and 
empty-headed  he  may  feel  himself  to  be  at  bottom,  but 
comes  home  from  one  of  their  coenacula  with  a  porten- 
tous significance  for  himself 

It  is  an  odd  thing  how  happily  two  people,  if  there 
are  two,  can  live  in  a  place  where  they  have  no  acquain- 
tance. I  think  the  spectacle  of  a  whole  life  in  which  you 
have  no  part  paralyses  personal  desire.  You  are  content 
to  become  a  mere  spectator.  The  baker  stands  in  his 
door;  the  colonel  with  his  three  medals  goes  by  to  the 
cap  at  night;  the  troops  drum  and  trumpet  and  man 
the  ramparts  as  bold  as  so  many  lions.  It  would  task 
language  to  say  how  placidly  you  behold  all  this.  In  a 
place  where  you  have  taken  some  root  you  are  provoked 
out  of  your  indifference;  you  have  a  hand  in  the  game, 
—  your  friends  are  fighting  with  the  army.  But  in  a 
strange  town,  not  small  enough  to  grow  too  soon  famil- 
iar, nor  so  large  as  to  have  laid  itself  out  for  travellers, 
you  stand  so  far  apart  from  the  business  that  you  posi- 


AT  MAUBEUGE 

tively  forget  it  would  be  possible  to  go  nearer;  you  have 
so  little  human  interest  around  you  that  you  do  not  re- 
member yourself  to  be  a  man.  Perhaps  in  a  very  short 
time  you  would  be  one  no  longer.  Gymnosophists  go 
into  a  wood  with  all  nature  seething  around  them,  with 
romance  on  every  side;  it  would  be  much  more  to  the 
purpose  if  they  took  up  their  abode  in  a  dull  country 
town  where  they  should  see  just  so  much  of  humanity 
as  to  keep  them  from  desiring  more,  and  only  the  stale 
externals  of  man's  life.  These  externals  are  as  dead  to 
us  as  so  many  formalities,  and  speak  a  dead  language  in 
our  eyes  and  ears.  They  have  no  more  meaning  than 
an  oath  or  a  salutation.  We  are  so  much  accustomed 
to  see  married  couples  going  to  church  of  a  Sunday  that 
we  have  clean  forgotten  what  they  represent ;  and  nov- 
elists are  driven  to  rehabilitate  adultery,  no  less,  when 
they  wish  to  show  us  what  a  beautiful  thing  it  is  for  a 
man  and  a  woman  to  live  for  each  other. 

One  person  in  Maubeuge,  however,  showed  me  some- 
thing more  than  his  outside.  That  was  the  driver  of 
the  hotel  omnibus :  a  mean  enough  looking  little  man, 
as  well  as  I  can  remember,  but  with  a  spark  of  some- 
thing human-  in  his  soul.  He  had  heard  of  our  little 
journey,  and  came  to  me  at  once  in  envious  sympathy. 
How  he  longed  to  travel!  he  told  me.  How  he  longed 
to  be  somewhere  else,  and  see  the  round  world  before 
he  went  into  the  grave!  "Here  I  am,"  said  he.  *'I 
drive  to  the  station.  Well.  And  then  I  drive  back 
again  to  the  hotel.  And  so  on  every  day  and  all  the 
week  round.  My  God,  is  that  life  }  "  I  could  not  say  I 
thought  it  was — for  him.  He  pressed  me  to  tell  him 
where  I  had  been,  and  where  I  hoped  to  go ;  and  as  he 

23 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

listened,  I  declare  the  fellow  sighed.  Might  not  this 
have  been  a  brave  African  traveller,  or  gone  to  the  In- 
dies after  Drake  ?  But  it  is  an  evil  age  for  the  gypsily 
inclined  among  men.  He  who  can  sit  squarest  on  a 
three-legged  stool,  he  it  is  who  has  the  wealth  and 
glory. 

1  wonder  if  my  friend  is  still  driving  the  omnibus  for 
the  Grand  Cerf !  Not  very  likely,  I  believe;  for  I  think 
he  was  on  the  eve  of  mutiny  when  we  passed  through, 
and  perhaps  our  passage  determined  him  for  good. 
Better  a  thousand  times  that  he  should  be  a  tramp,  and 
mend  pots  and  pans  by  the  wayside,  and  sleep  under 
trees,  and  see  the  dawn  and  the  sunset  every  day  above  a 
new  horizon.  I  think  I  hear  you  say  that  it  is  a  respect- 
able position  to  drive  an  omnibus  .^  Very  well.  What 
right  has  he  who  likes  it  not  to  keep  those  who  would 
like  it  dearly  out  of  this  respectable  position  }  Suppose 
a  dish  were  not  to  my  taste,  and  you  told  me  that  it  was 
a  favourite  among  the  rest  of  the  company,  what  should 
I  conclude  from  that.?  Not  to  finish  the  dish  against 
my  stomach,  I  suppose. 

Respectability  is  a  very  good  thing  in  its  way,  but  it 
does  not  rise  superior  to  all  considerations,  I  would 
not  for  a  moment  venture  to  hint  that  it  was  a  matter  of 
taste ;  but  I  think  I  will  go  as  far  as  this :  that  if  a  posi- 
tion is  admittedly  unkind,  uncomfortable,  unnecessary, 
and  superfluously  useless,  although  it  were  as  respect- 
able as  the  Church  of  England,  the  sooner  a  man  is  out 
of  it,  the  better  for  himself,  and  all  concerned. 


24 


ON  THE  SAMBRE  CANALIZED 

TO   QUARTES 

About  three  in  the  afternoon  the  whole  establishment 
of  the  Grand  Cerf  accompanied  us  to  the  water's  edge. 
The  man  of  the  omnibus  was  there  with  haggard  eyes. 
Poor  cage-bird !  Do  I  not  remember  the  time  when  I 
myself  haunted  the  station,  to  watch  train  after  train 
carry  its  complement  of  freemen  into  the  night,  and 
read  the  names  of  distant  places  on  the  time-bills  with 
indescribable  longings  ? 

We  were  not  clear  of  the  fortifications  before  the  rain 
began.  The  wind  was  contrary,  and  blew  in  furious 
gusts ;  nor  were  the  aspects  of  nature  any  more  clement 
than  the  doings  of  the  sky.  For  we  passed  through  a 
blighted  country,  sparsely  covered  with  brush,  but  hand- 
.somely  enough  diversified  with  factory  chimneys.  We 
landed  in  a  soiled  meadow  among  some  pollards,  and 
there  smoked  a  pipe  in  a  flaw  of  fair  weather.  But  the 
wind  blew  so  hard  we  could  get  little  else  to  smoke. 
There  were  no  natural  objects  in  the  neighbourhood,  but 
some  sordid  workshops.  A  group  of  children,  headed 
by  a  tall  girl,  stood  and  watched  us  from  a  little  dis- 
tance all  the  time  we  stayed.  I  heartily  wonder  what 
they  thought  of  us. 

At  Hautmont,  the  lock  was  almost  impassable;  the 

25 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

landing  place  being  steep  and  high,  and  the  launch  at  a 
long  distance.  Near  a  dozen  grimy  workmen  lent  us 
a  hand.  They  refused  any  reward ;  and,  what  is  much 
better,  refused  it  handsomely,  without  conveying  any 
sense  of  insult.  **  It  is  a  way  we  have  in  our  country- 
side," said  they.  And  a  very  becoming  way  it  is.  In 
Scotland,  where  also  you  will  get  services  for  nothing, 
the  good  people  reject  your  money  as  if  you  had  been 
trying  to  corrupt  a  voter.  When  people  take  the  trou- 
ble to  do  dignified  acts,  it  is  worth  while  to  take  a  little 
more,  and  allow  the  dignity  to  be  common  to  all  con- 
cerned. But  in  our  brave  Saxon  countries,  where  we 
plod  threescore  years  and  ten  in  the  mud,  and  the  wind 
keeps  singing  in  our  ears  from  birth  to  burial,  we  do 
our  good  and  bad  with  a  high  hand  and  almost  offen- 
sively ;  and  make  even  our  alms  a  witness-bearing  and 
an  act  of  war  against  the  wrong. 

After  Hautmont,  the  sun  came  forth  again  and  the 
wind  went  down ;  and  a  little  paddling  took  us  beyond 
the  iron  works  and  through  a  delectable  land.  The  river 
wound  among  low  hills,  so  that  sometimes  the  sun  was 
at  our  backs  and  sometimes  it  stood  right  ahead,  and 
the  river  before  us  was  one  sheet  of  intolerable  glory. 
On  either  hand  meadows  and  orchards  bordered,  with  a 
margin  of  sedge  and  water  flowers,  upon  the  river. 
The  hedges  were  of  great  height,  woven  about  the 
trunks  of  hedgerow  elms ;  and  the  fields,  as  they  were 
often  very  small,  looked  like  a  series  of  bowers  along 
the  stream.  There  was  never  any  prospect;  sometimes 
a  hill-top  with  its  trees  would  look  over  the  nearest 
hedgerow,  just  to  make  a  middle  distance  for  the  sky; 
but  that  was  all.    The  heaven  was  bare  of  clouds.    The 

26 


ON   THE  SAMBRE  CANALIZED 

atmosphere,  after  the  rain,  was  of  enchanting  purit}?. 
The  river  doubled  among  the  hillocks,  a  shining  strip 
of  mirror  glass;  and  the  dip  of  the  paddles  set  the 
flowers  shaking  along  the  brink. 

In  the  meadows  wandered  black  and  white  cattle 
fantastically  marked.  One  beast,  with  a  white  head 
and  the  rest  of  the  body  glossy  black,  came  to  the  edge 
to  drink,  and  stood  gravely  twitching  his  ears  at  me  as 
I  went  by,  like  some  sort  of  preposterous  clergyman  in 
a  play.  A  moment  after  I  heard  a  loud  plunge,  and, 
turning  my  head,  saw  the  clergyman  struggling  to  shore. 
The  bank  had  given  way  under  his  feet. 

Besides  the  cattle,  we  saw  no  living  things  except  a 
few  birds  and  a  great  many  fishermen.  These  sat  along 
the  edges  of  the  meadows,  sometimes  with  one  rod, 
sometimes  with  as  many  as  half  a  score.  They  seemed 
stupefied  with  contentment;  and,  when  we  induced 
them  to  exchange  a  few  words  with  us  about  the 
weather,  their  voices  sounded  quiet  and  far  away. 
There  was  a  strange  diversity  of  opinion  among  them 
as  to  the  kind  of  fish  for  which  they  set  their  lures ;  al- 
though they  were  all  agreed  in  this,  that  the  river  was 
abundantly  supplied.  Where  it  was  plain  that  no  two 
of  them  had  ever  caught  the  same  kind  of  fish,  we  could 
not  help  suspecting  that  perhaps  not  any  one  of  them 
had  ever  caught  a  fish  at  all.  I  hope,  since  the  afternoon 
was  so  lovely,  that  they  were  one  and  all  rewarded; 
and  that  a  silver  booty  went  home  in  every  basket  for 
the  pot.  Some  of  my  friends  would  cry  shame  on  me 
for  this ;  but  I  prefer  a  man,  were  he  only  an  angler,  to 
the  bravest  pair  of  gills  in  all  God's  waters.  I  do  not 
affect  fishes  unless  when  cooked  in  sauce ;  whereas  an 

27 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

angler  is  an  important  piece  of  river  scenery,  and  hence 
deserves  some  recognition  among  canoeists.  He  can 
always  tell  you  v^here  you  are,  after  a  mild  fashion ;  and 
his  quiet  presence  serves  to  accentuate  the  solitude  and 
stillness,  and  remind  you  of  the  glittering  citizens  below 
your  boat. 

The  Sambre  turned  so  industriously  to  and  fro  among 
his  little  hills  that  it  was  past  six  before  we  drew  near 
the  lock  at  Quartes.  There  were  some  children  on  the 
tow-path,  with  whom  the  Cigarette  fell  into  a  chafFmg 
talk  as  they  ran  along  beside  us.  It  was  in  vain  that 
I  warned  him.  In  vain  I  told  him  in  English  that  boys 
were  the  most  dangerous  creatures ;  and  if  once  you  be- 
gan with  them,  it  was  safe  to  end  in  a  shower  of  stones. 
For  my  own  part,  whenever  anything  was  addressed  to 
me,  I  smiled  gently  and  shook  my  head,  as  though  I 
were  an  inoffensive  person  inadequately  acquainted  with 
French.  For,  indeed,  I  have  had  such  an  experience  at 
home  that  I  would  sooner  meet  many  wild  animals  than 
a  troop  of  healthy  urchins. 

But  I  was  doing  injustice  to  these  peaceable  young 
Hainaulters.  When  the  Cigarette  went  off  to  make  in- 
quiries, I  got  out  upon  the  bank  to  smoke  a  pipe  and 
superintend  the  boats,  and  became  at  once  the  centre  of 
much  amiable  curiosity.  The  children  had  been  joined 
by  this  time  by  a  young  woman  and  a  mild  lad  who  had 
lost  an  arm ;  and  this  gave  me  more  security.  When  I 
let  slip  my  first  word  or  so  in  French,  a  little  girl  nodded 
her  head  with  a  comical  grown-up  air.  "  Ah,  you  see," 
she  said,  ** he  understands  well  enough  now;  he  was 
just  making  believe."  And  the  little  group  laughed 
together  very  good-naturedly. 

28 


ON  THE  SAMBRE  CANALIZED 

They  were  much  impressed  when  they  heard  we  came 
from  England;  and  the  little  girl  proffered  the  informa- 
tion that  England  was  an  island  "and  a  far  way  from 
here  —  bien  loin  d'ici." 

*' Ay,  you  may  say  that,  a  far  way  from  here,"  said 
the  lad  with  one  arm. 

I  was  nearly  as  homesick  as  ever  I  was  in  my  life; 
they  seemed  to  make  it  such  an  incalculable  distance  to 
the  place  where  I  first  saw  the  day. 

They  admired  the  canoes  very  much.  And  I  observed 
one  piece  of  delicacy  in  these  children  which  is  worthy 
of  record.  They  had  been  deafening  us  for  the  last 
hundred  yards  with  petitions  for  a  sail;  ay,  and  they 
deafened  us  to  the  same  tune  next  morning  when  we 
came  to  start;  but  then,  when  the  canoes  were  lying 
empty,  there  was  no  word  of  any  such  petition.  Deli- 
cacy }  or  perhaps  a  bit  of  fear  for  the  water  in  so  crank 
a  vessel }  I  hate  cynicism  a  great  deal  worse  than  I  do 
the  devil ;  unless  perhaps,  the  two  were  the  same  thing  } 
And  yet  'tis  a  good  tonic ;  the  cold  tub  and  bath-towel 
of  the  sentiments ;  and  positively  necessary  to  life  in 
cases  of  advanced  sensibility. 

From  the  boats  they  turned  to  my  costume.  They 
could  not  make  enough  of  my  red  sash ;  and  my  knife 
filled  them  with  awe. 

''They  make  them  like  that  in  England,"  said  the 
boy  with  one  arm.  I  was  glad  he  did  not  know  how 
badly  we  make  them  in  England  nowadays.  "They 
are  for  people  who  go  away  to  sea,"  he  added,  "  and  to 
defend  one's  life  against  great  fish." 

I  felt  I  was  becoming  a  more  and  more  romantic  figure 
to  the  little  group  at  every  word.     And  so  I  suppose  I 

29 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

was.  Even  my  pipe,  although  it  was  an  ordinary  French 
clay,  pretty  well  ''trousered,"  as  they  call  it,  would 
have  a  rarity  in  their  eyes,  as  a  thing  coming  from  so 
far  away.  And  if  my  feathers  were  not  very  fine  in 
themselves,  they  were  all  from  over  seas.  One  thing 
in  my  outfit,  however,  tickled  them  out  of  all  polite- 
ness; and  that  was  the  bemired  condition  of  my  canvas 
shoes.  I  suppose  they  were  sure  the  mud  at  any  rate 
was  a  home  product.  The  little  girl  (who  was  the 
genius  of  the  party)  displayed  her  own  sabots  in  com- 
petition; and  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  how  grace- 
fully and  merrily  she  did  it. 

The  young  woman's  milk-can,  a  great  amphora  of 
hammered  brass,  stood  some  way  off  upon  the  sward. 
I  was  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  divert  public  attention 
from  myself  and  return  some  of  the  compliments  I  had 
received.  So  I  admired  it  cordially  both  for  form  and 
color,  telling  them,  and  very  truly,  that  it  was  as  beau- 
tiful as  gold.  They  were  not  surprised.  The  things 
were  plainly  the  boast  of  the  country-side.  And  the 
children  expatiated  on  the  costliness  of  these  amphorce, 
which  sell  sometimes  as  high  as  thirty  francs  apiece  ; 
told  me  how  they  were  carried  on  donkeys,  one  on 
either  side  of  the  saddle,  a  brave  caparison  in  themselves; 
and  how  they  were  to  be  seen  all  over  the  district,  and 
at  the  larger  farms  in  great  number  and  of  great  size. 


30 


PONT-SUR-SAMBRE 

WE   ARE   PEDLARS 

The  Cigarette  returned  with  good  news.  There  were 
beds  to  be  had  some  ten  minutes'  walk  from  where 
we  were,  at  a  place  called  Pont  We  stowed  the  canoes 
in  a  granary,  and  asked  among  the  children  for  a  guide. 
The  circle  at  once  widened  round  us,  and  our  offers  of 
reward  were  received  in  dispiriting  silence.  We  were 
plainly  a  pair  of  Bluebeards  to  the  children ;  they  might 
speak  to  us  in  public  places,  and  where  they  had  the 
advantage  of  numbers ;  but  it  was  another  thing  to  ven- 
ture off  alone  with  two  uncouth  and  legendary  charac- 
ters, who  had  dropped  from  the  clouds  upon  their  hamlet 
this  quiet  afternoon,  sashed  and  beknived,  and  with  a 
flavour  of  great  voyages.  The  owner  of  the  granary 
came  to  our  assistance,  singled  out  one  little  fellow,  and 
threatened  him  with  corporalities  ;  or  I  suspect  we 
should  have  had  to  find  the  way  for  ourselves.  As  it 
was,  he  was  more  frightened  at  the  granary  man  than 
the  strangers,  having  perhaps  had  some  experience  of 
the  former.  But  I  fancy  his  little  heart  must  have  been 
going  at  a  fine  rate,  for  he  kept  trotting  at  a  respectful 
distance  in  front,  and  looking  back  at  us  with  scared 
eyes.  Not  otherwise  may  the  children  of  the  young 
world  have  guided  Jove  or  one  of  his  Olympian  com- 
peers on  an  adventure. 

3« 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

A  miry  lane  led  us  up  from  Quartes,  with  its  church 
and  bickering  wind-mill.  The  hinds  were  trudging 
homewards  from  the  fields.  A  brisk  little  old  woman 
passed  us  by.  She  was  seated  across  a  donkey  between 
a  pair  of  glittering  milk-cans,  and,  as  she  went,  she 
kicked  jauntily  with  her  heels  upon  the  donkey's  side, 
and  scattered  shrill  remarks  among  the  wayfarers.  It 
was  notable  that  none  of  the  tired  men  took  the  trouble 
to  reply.  Our  conductor  soon  led  us  out  of  the  lane 
and  across  country.  The  sun  had  gone  down,  but  the 
west  in  front  of  us  was  one  lake  of  level  gold.  The 
path  wandered  a  while  in  the  open,  and  then  passed 
under  a  trellis  like  a  bower  indefinitely  prolonged.  On 
either  hand  were  shadowy  orchards ;  cottages  lay  low 
among  the  leaves  and  sent  their  smoke  to  heaven ;  every 
here  and  there,  in  an  opening,  appeared  the  great  gold 
face  of  the  west. 

I  never  saw  the  Cigarette  in  such  an  idyllic  frame  of 
mind.  He  waxed  positively  lyrical  in  praise  of  country 
scenes.  I  was  little  less  exhilarated  myself;  the  mild  air 
of  the  evening,  the  shadows,  the  rich  lights,  and  the  si- 
lence made  a  symphonious  accompaniment  about  our 
walk ;  and  we  both  determined  to  avoid  towns  for  the 
future  and  sleep  in  hamlets. 

At  last  the  path  went  between  two  houses,  and  turned 
the  party  out  into  a  wide,  muddy  high-road,  bordered, 
2&  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  on  either  hand,  by  an  un- 
sightly village.  The  houses  stood  well  back,  leaving  a 
ribbon  of  waste  land  on  either  side  of  the  road,  where 
there  were  stacks  of  firewood,  carts,  barrows,  rubbish 
heaps,  and  a  little  doubtful  grass.  Away  on  the  left,  a 
gaunt  tower  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  street.     What  it 

32 


PONT-SUR-SAMBRE 

had  been  in  past  ages  I  know  not:  probably  a  hold  in 
time  of  war;  but  nowadays  it  bore  an  illegible  dial-plate 
in  its  upper  parts,  and  near  the  bottom  an  iron  letter- 
box. 

The  inn  to  which  we  had  been  recommended  at 
Ouartes  was  full,  or  else  the  landlady  did  not  like  our 
looks.  I  ought  to  say,  that  with  our  long,  damp  india- 
rubber  bags,  we  presented  rather  a  doubtful  type  of  civ- 
ilization :  like  rag-and-bone  men,  the  Cigarette  imagined. 
''These  gentlemen  are  pedlars  ?" —  Ces  messieurs  sont 
des  marchands  ?  —  asked  the  landlady.  And  then,  with- 
out waiting  for  an  answer,  which  I  suppose  she  thought 
superfluous  in  so  plain  a  case,  recommended  us  to  a 
butcher  who  lived  hard  by  the  tower  and  took  in  trav- 
ellers to  lodge. 

Thither  went  we.  But  the  butcher  was  flitting,  and 
all  his  beds  were  taken  down.  Or  else  he  didn't  like 
our  look.  As  a  parting  shot,  we  had,  ''These  gentle- 
men are  pedlars  ?" 

It  began  to  grow  dark  in  earnest.  We  could  no  longer 
distinguish  the  faces  of  the  people  who  passed  us  by 
with  an  inarticulate  good  evening.  And  the  household- 
ers of  Pont  seemed  very  economical  with  their  oil,  for 
we  saw  not  a  single  window  lighted  in  all  that  long  vil- 
lage. I  believe  it  is  the  longest  village  in  the  world ; 
but  I  daresay  in  our  predicament  every  pace  counted 
three  times  over.  We  were  much  cast  down  when  we 
came  to  the  last  auberge,  and,  looking  in  at  the  dark 
door,  asked  timidly  if  we  could  sleep  there  for  the 
night.  A  female  voice  assented,  in  no  very  friendly 
tones.  We*<:lapped  the  bags  down  and  found  our  way 
to  chairs. 

33 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

The  place  was  in  total  darkness,  save  a  red  glow  in 
the  chinks  and  ventilators  of  the  stove.  But  now  the 
landlady  lit  a  lamp  to  see  her  new  guests;  I  suppose  the 
darkness  was  what  saved  us  another  expulsion,  for  I 
cannot  say  she  looked  gratified  at  our  appearance.  We 
were  in  a  large,  bare  apartment,  adorned  with  two  al- 
legorical prints  of  Music  and  Painting,  and  a  copy  of 
the  Law  against  Public  Drunkenness.  On  one  side  there 
was  a  bit  of  a  bar,  with  some  half  a  dozen  bottles.  Two 
labourers  sat  waiting  supper,  in  attitudes  of  extreme  wea- 
riness ;  a  plain-looking  lass  bustled  about  with  a  sleepy 
child  of  two,  and  the  landlady  began  to  derange  the 
pots  upon  the  stove  and  set  some  beefsteak  to  grill. 

** These  gentlemen  are  pedlars?"  she  asked  sharply; 
and  that  was  all  the  conversation  forthcoming.  We 
began  to  think  we  might  be  pedlars,  after  all.  I  never 
knew  a  population  with  so  narrow  a  range  of  conjecture 
as  the  innkeepers  of  Pont-sur-Sambre.  But  manners 
and  bearing  have  not  a  wider  currency  than  bank-notes. 
You  have  only  to  get  far  enough  out  of  your  beat,  and 
all  your  accomplished  airs  will  go  for  nothing.  These 
Hainaulters  could  see  no  difference  between  us  and  the 
average  pedlar.  Indeed,  we  had  some  grounds  for  re- 
flection while  the  steak  was  getting  ready,  to  see  how 
perfectly  they  accepted  us  at  their  own  valuation,  and 
how  our  best  politeness  and  best  efforts  at  entertain- 
ment seemed  to  fit  quite  suitably  with  the  character  of 
packmen.  At  least  it  seemed  a  good  account  of  the 
profession  in  France,  that  even  before  such  judges  we 
could  not  beat  them  at  our  own  weapons. 

At  last  we  were  called  to  table.  The  twp  hinds  (and 
one  of  them  looked  sadly  worn  and  white  in  the  face, 

34 


PONT-SUR-SAMBRE 

as  though  sick  with  over-work  and  under-feeding)  sup- 
ped off  a  single  plate  of  some  sort  of  bread-berry,  some 
potatoes  in  their  jackets,  a  small  cup  of  coffee  sweet- 
ened with  sugar  candy,  and  one  tumbler  of  swipes. 
The  landlady,  her  son,  and  the  lass  aforesaid  took  the 
same.  Our  meal  was  quite  a  banquet  by  comparison. 
We  had  some  beefsteak,  not  so  tender  as  it  might  have 
been,  some  of  the  potatoes,  some  cheese,  an  extra  glass 
of  the  swipes,  and  white  sugar  in  our  coffee. 

You  see  what  it  is  to  be  a  gentleman, —  I  beg  your 
pardon,  what  it  is  to  be  a  pedlar.  It  had  not  before  oc- 
curred to  me  that  a  pedlar  was  a  great  man  in  a 
labourer's  alehouse;  but  now  that  I  had  to  enact  the 
part  for  the  evening,  I  found  that  so  it  was.  He  has  in 
his  hedge  quarters  somewhat  the  same  pre-eminency  as 
the  man  who  takes  a  private  parlour  in  a  hotel.  The 
more  you  look  into  it  the  more  infinite  are  the  class  dis- 
tinctions among  men ;  and  possibly,  by  a  happy  dispen- 
sation there  is  no  one  at  all  at  the  bottom  of  the  scale; 
no  one  but  can  find  some  superiority  over  somebody 
else,  to  keep  up  his  pride  withal. 

We  were  displeased  enough  with  our  fare.  Particu- 
larly the  Cigarette;  for  I  tried  to  make  believe  that  I  was 
amused  with  the  adventure,  tough  beefsteak  and  all. 
According  to  the  Lucretian  maxim,  our  steak  should 
have  been  flavoured  by  the  look  of  the  other  people's 
bread-berry;  but  we  did  not  find  it  so  in  practice/^'^You 
may  have  a  head  knowledge  that  other  people  live  more 
poorly  than  yourself,  but  it  is  not  agreeable  —  I  was  go- 
ing to  say,  it  is  against  the  etiquette  of  the  universe  —  to 
sit  at  the  same  table  and  pick  your  own  superior  diet  from 
among  their  crusts.     I  had  not  seen  such  a  thing  done 

y:> 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

since  the  greedy  boy  at  school  with  his  birthday  cake. 
It  was  odious  enough  to  witness,  I  could  remember;  and 
I  had  never  thought  to  play  the  part  myself.  But  there, 
again,  you  see  what  it  is  to  be  a  pedlar. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  poorer  classes  in  our  coun- 
try are  much  more  charitably  disposed  than  their  supe- 
riors in  wealth.  And  I  fancy  it  must  arise  a  great  deal 
from  the  comparative  indistinction  of  the  easy  and  the 
not  so  easy  in  these  ranks.  A  workman  or  a  pedlar 
cannot  shutter  himself  off  from  his  less  comfortable 
neighbours.  If  he  treats  himself  to  a  luxury,  he  must 
do  it  in  the  face  of  a  dozen  who  cannot.  And  what 
should  more  directly  lead  to  charitable  thoughts  ?  .  .  . 
Thus  the  poor  man,  camping  out  in  life,  sees  it  as  it  is, 
and  knows  that  every  mouthful  he  puts  in  his  belly  has 
been  wrenched  out  of  the  fingers  of  the  hungry. 

But  at  a  certain  stage  of  prosperity,  as  in  a  balloon 
ascent,  the  fortunate  person  passes  through  a  zone  of 
clouds,  and  sublunary  matters  are  thenceforward  hidden 
from  his  view.  He  sees  nothing  but  the  heavenly  bod- 
ies, all  in  admirable  order  and  positively  as  good  as  new. 
He  finds  himself  surrounded  in  the  most  touching  man- 
ner by  the  attentions  of  Providence,  and  compares  him- 
self involuntarily  with  the  lilies  and  the  skylarks.  He 
does  not  precisely  sing,  of  course;  but  then  he  looks  so 
unassuming  in  his  open  Landau  !  If  all  the  world  dined 
at  one  table,  this  philosophy  would  meet  with  some  rude 
knocks. 


36 


PONT-SUR-SAMBRE  ] 

THE  TRAVELLING  MERCHANT 

Like  the  lackeys  in  Moltere's  farce,  when  the  true  no- 
bleman broke  in  on  their  high  life  below  stairs,  we  were 
destined  to  be  confronted  with  a  real  pedlar.  To  make 
the  lesson  still  more  poignant  for  fallen  gentlemen  like 
us,  he  was  a  pedlar  of  infinitely  more  consideration  than 
the  sort  of  scurvy  fellows  we  were  taken  for;  like  a  lion 
among  mice,  or  a  ship  of  war  bearing  down  upon  two 
cock-boats.  Indeed,  he  did  not  deserve  the  name  of 
pedlar  at  all ;  he  was  a  travelling  merchant. 

1  suppose  it  was  about  half  past  eight  when  this 
worthy,  Monsieur  Hector  GiUiard,  of  Maubeuge,  turned 
up  at  the  alehouse  door  in  a  tilt  cart  drawn  by  a  donkey, 
and  cried  cheerily  on  the  inhabitants.  He  was  a  lean, 
nervous  flibbertigibbet  of  a  man,  with  something  the 
look  of  an  actor  and  something  the  look  of  a  horse  jockey. 
He  had  evidently  prospered  without  any  of  the  fa- 
vours of  education,  for  he  adhered  with  stern  simplicity 
to  the  masculine  gender,  and  in  the  course  of  the  even- 
ing passed  off  some  fancy  futures  in  a  very  florid  style  of 
architecture.  With  him  came  his  wife,  a  comely  young 
woman,  with  her  hair  tied  in  a  yellow  kerchief,  and  their 
son,  a  little  fellow  of  four,  in  a  blouse  and  military  kepi. 
It  was  notable  that  the  child  was  many  degrees  better 

37 


AN  INLAND  VOYAGE 

dressed  than  either  of  the  parents.  We  were  informed 
he  was  already  at  a  boarding  school ;  but  the  holidays 
having  just  commenced,  he  was  off  to  spend  them  with 
his  parents  on  a  cruise.  An  enchanting  holiday  occu- 
pation, was  it  not.^  to  travel  all  day  with  father  and 
mother  in  the  tilt  cart  full  of  countless  treasures;  the 
green  country  rattling  by  on  either  side,  and  the  children 
in  all  the  villages  contemplating  him  with  envy  and 
wonder.  It  is  better  fun,  during  the  holidays,  to  be  the 
son  of  a  travelling  merchant,  than  son  and  heir  to  the 
greatest  cotton  spinner  in  creation.  And  as  for  being  a 
reigning  prince, —  indeed,  I  never  saw  one  if  it  was  not 
Master  Gilliard! 

While  M.  Hector  and  the  son  of  the  house  were  put- 
ting up  the  donkey  and  getting  all  the  valuables  under 
lock  and  key,  the  landlady  warmed  up  the  remains  of 
our  beefsteak  and  fried  the  cold  potatoes  in  slices,  and 
Madame  Gilliard  set  herself  to  waken  the  boy,  who  had 
come  far  that  day,  and  was  peevish  and  dazzled  by  the 
light.  He  was  no  sooner  awake  than  he  began  to  pre- 
pare himself  for  supper  by  eating  galette,  unripe  pears, 
and  cold  potatoes,  with,  so  far  as  I  could  judge,  positive 
benefit  to  his  appetite. 

The  landlady,  fired  with  motherly  emulation,  awoke 
her  own  little  girl,  and  the  two  children  were  confronted. 
Master  Gilliard  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  very  much 
as  a  dog  looks  at  his  own  reflection  in  a  mirror  before 
he  turns  away.  He  was  at  that  time  absorbed  in  the 
galette.  His  mother  seemed  crestfallen  that  he  should 
display  so  little  inclination  towards  the  other  sex,  and 
expressed  her  disappointment  with  some  candour  and 
a  very  proper  reference  to  the  influence  of  years. 

3^ 


PONT-SUR-SAMBRE 

Sure  enough  a  time  will  come  when  he  will  pay  more 
attention  to  the  girls,  and  think  a  great  deal  less  of  his 
mother ;  let  us  hope  she  will  like  it  as  well  as  she  seemed 
to  fancy.  But  it  is  odd  enough ;  the  very  women  who 
profess  most  contempt  for  mankind  as  a  sex  seem  to 
find  even  its  ugliest  particulars  rather  lively  and  high- 
minded  in  their  own  sons. 

The  little  girl  looked  longer  and  with  more  interest, 
probably  because  she  was  in  her  own  house,  while  he 
was  a  traveller  and  accustomed  to  strange  sights.  And, 
besides,  there  was  no  galette  in  the  case  with  her. 

All  the  time  of  supper  there  was  nothing  spoken  of 
but  my  young  lord.  The  two  parents  were  both  ab- 
surdly fond  of  their  child.  Monsieur  kept  insisting  on 
his  sagacity ;  how  he  knew  all  the  children  at  school  by 
name,  and  when  this  utterly  failed  on  trial,  how  he  was 
cautious  and  exact  to  a  strange  degree,  and  if  asked 
anything,  he  would  sit  and  think  —  and  think,  and  if  he 
did  not  know  it,  "  my  faith,  he  wouldn't  tell  you  at  all 
—  ma  foi,  il  ne  vous  le  dira  pas."  Which  is  certainly 
a  very  high  degree  of  caution.  At  intervals,  M.  Hector 
would  appeal  to  his  wife,  with  his  mouth  full  of  beef- 
steak, as  to  the  little  fellow's  age  at  such  or  such  a  time 
when  he  had  said  or  done  something  memorable;  and 
I  noticed  that  Madame  usually  poohpoohed  these  in- 
quiries. She  herself  was  not  boastful  in  her  vein ;  but 
she  never  had  her  fill  of  caressing  the  child;  and  she 
seemed  to  take  a  gentle  pleasure  in  recalling  all  that  was 
fortunate  in  his  little  existence.  No  school-boy  could 
have  talked  more  of  the  holidays  which  were  just  be- 
ginning and  less  of  the  black  school-time  which  must 
inevitably  follow  after.     She  showed,  with  a  pride  per- 

39 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

haps  partly  mercantile  in  origin,  his  pockets  preposter- 
ously swollen  with  tops,  and  whistles,  and  string. 
When  she  called  at  a  house  in  the  way  of  business,  it 
appeared  he  kept  her  company;  and,  whenever  a  sale 
was  made,  received  a  sou  out  of  the  profit.  Indeed, 
they  spoiled  him  vastly,  these  two  good  people.  But 
they  had  an  eye  to  his  manners,  for  all  that,  and  reproved 
him  for  some  little  faults  in  breeding  which  occurred 
from  time  to  time  during  supper. 

On  the  whole,  1  was  not  much  hurt  at  being  taken  for 
a  pedlar.  I  might  think  that  I  ate  with  greater  delicacy, 
or  that  my  mistakes  in  French  belonged  to  a  different 
order;  but  it  was  plain  that  these  distinctions  would  be 
thrown  away  upon  the  landlady  and  the  two  labourers. 
In  all  essential  things  we  and  the  GilUards  cut  very  much 
the  same  figure  in  the  alehouse  kitchen.  M.  Hector  was 
more  at  home,  indeed,  and  took  a  higher  tone  with  the 
world;  but  that  was  explicable  on  the  ground  of  his 
driving  a  donkey-cart,  while  we  poor  bodies  tramped 
afoot.  I  dare  say  the  rest  of  the  company  thought  us 
dying  with  envy,  though  in  no  ill  sense,  to  be  as  far  up 
in  the  profession  as  the  new  arrival. 

And  of  one  thing  I  am  sure ;  that  everyone  thawed 
and  became  more  humanized  and  conversible  as  soon  as 
these  innocent  people  appeared  upon  the  scene.  I  would 
not  very  readily  trust  the  travelling  merchant  with  any 
extravagant  sum  of  money,  but  I  am  sure  his  heart  was 
in  the  right  place.  In  this  mixed  world,  if  you  can  find 
one  or  two  sensible  places  in  a  man ;  above  all,  if  you 
should  find  a  whole  family  living  together  on  such  pleas- 
ant terms,  you  may  surely  be  satisfied,  and  take  the  rest 
for  granted ;  or,  what  is  a  great  deal  better,  boldly  make 

40 


PONT-SUR-SAMBRE 

Up  your  mind  that  you  can  do  perfectly  well  without 
the  rest,  and  that  ten  thousand  bad  traits  cannot  make  a 
single  good  one  any  the  less  good. 

It  was  getting  late.  M.  Hector  lit  a  stable  lantern  and 
went  off  to  his  cart  for  some  arrangements,  and  my 
young  gentleman  proceeded  to  divest  himself  of  the 
better  part  of  his  raiment  and  play  gymnastics  on  his 
mother's  lap,  and  thence  on  to  the  floor,  with  accom- 
paniment of  laughter. 

''Are  you  going  to  sleep  alone?"  asked  the  servant 
/ass. 

''There's  little  fear  of  that,"  says  Master  Gilliard. 

"You  sleep  alone  at  school,"  objected  his  mother. 
"  Come,  come,  you  must  be  a  man." 

But  he  protested  that  school  was  a  different  matter 
from  the  holidays ;  that  there  were  dormitories  at  school, 
and  silenced  the  discussion  with  kisses,  his  mother  smil- 
ing, no  one  better  pleased  than  she. 

There  certainly  was,  as  he  phrased  it,  very  little  fear 
that  he  should  sleep  alone,  for  there  was  but  one  bed 
for  the  trio.  We,  on  our  part,  had  firmly  protested 
against  one  man's  accommodation  for  two;  and  we  had 
a  double-bedded  pen  in  the  loft  of  the  house,  furnished, 
beside  the  beds,  with  exactly  three  hat  pegs  and  one 
table.  There  was  not  so  much  as  a  glass  of  water. 
But  the  window  would  open,  by  good  fortune. 

Some  time  before  I  fell  asleep  the  loft  was  full  of  the 
sound  of  mighty  snoring;  the  Gilliards,  and  the  labour- 
ers, and  the  people  of  the  inn,  all  at  it,  I  suppose,  with 
one  consent.  The  young  moon  outside  shone  very 
clearly  over  Pont-sur-Sambre,  and  down  upon  the  ale- 
house where  all  we  pedlars  were  abed. 

4' 


ON  THE  SAMBRE  CANALIZED 

TO   LANDRECIES 

In  the  morning,  when  we  came  down-stairs  the  land- 
lady pointed  out  to  us  two  pails  of  water  behind  the 
street  door.  "  Foild  de  I'eau  pour  vous  debarbouiller,'' 
says  she.  And  so  there  we  made  a  shift  to  wash  our- 
selves, while  Madame  GiUiard  brushed  the  family  boots 
on  the  outer  doorstep,  and  M.  Hector,  whistling  cheerily, 
arranged  some  small  goods  for  the  day's  campaign  in  a 
portable  chest  of  drawers,  which  formed  a  part  of  his 
baggage.  Meanwhile  the  child  was  letting  off  Waterloo 
crackers  all  over  the  floor. 

I  wonder,  by  the  by,  what  they  call  Waterloo  crackers 
in  France;  perhaps  A usterlit:^  crackers.  There  is  a  great 
deal  in  the  point  of  view.  Do  you  remember  the  French- 
man  who,  travelling  by  way  of  Southampton,  was  put 
down  in  Waterloo  Station,  and  had  to  drive  across 
Waterloo  Bridge  }  He  had  a  mind  to  go  home  again, 
it  seems. 

Pont  itself  is  on  the  river,  but  whereas  it  is  ten 
minutes'  walk  from  Quartes  by  dry  land,  it  is  six  weary 
kilometres  by  water.  We  left  our  bags  at  the  inn  and 
walked  to  our  canoes  through  the  wet  orchards  unen- 
cumbered. Some  of  the  children  were  there  to  see  us 
off,  but  we  were  no  longer  the  mysterious  beings  of  the 

42 


ON  THE  SAMBRE   CANALIZED 

night  before.  A  departure  is  much  less  romantic  than 
an  unexplained  arrival  in  the  golden  evening.  Although 
we  might  be  greatly  taken  at  a  ghosf  s  first  appearance, 
we  should  behold  him  vanish  with  comparative  equa- 
nimity. 

The  good  folks  of  the  inn  at  Ponty  when  we  called 
there  for  the  bags,  were  overcome  with  marvelling.  At 
the  sight  of  these  two  dainty  little  boats,  with  a  flut- 
tering Union  Jack  on  each,  and  all  the  varnish  shining 
from  the  sponge,  they  began  to  perceive  that  they  had 
entertained  angels  unawares.  The  landlady  stood  upon 
the  bridge,  probably  lamenting  she  had  charged  so  little ; 
the  son  ran  to  and  fro,  and  called  out  the  neighbours  to 
enjoy  the  sight;  and  we  paddled  away  from  quite  a 
crowd  of  rapt  observers.  These  gentlemen  pedlars,  in- 
deed !  Now  you  see  their  quality  too  late. 

The  whole  day  was  showery,  with  occasional  drench- 
ing plumps.  We  were  soaked  to  the  skin,  then  partially 
dried  in  the  sun,  then  soaked  once  more.  But  there 
were  some  calm  intervals,  and  one  notably,  when  we 
were  skirting  the  forest  of  Mormal,  a  sinister  name  to 
the  ear,  but  a  place  most  gratifying  to  sight  and  smell. 
It  looked  solemn  along  the  river-side,  drooping  its  boughs 
into  the  water,  and  piling  them  up  aloft  into  a  wall  of 
leaves.  What  is  a  forest  but  a  city  of  nature's  own,  full 
of  hardy  and  innocuous  living  things,  where  there  is 
nothing  dead  and  nothing  made  with  the  hands,  but  the 
citizens  themselves  are  the  houses  and  public  monu- 
ments? There  is  nothing  so  much  alive  and  yet  so 
quiet  as  a  woodland;  and  a  pair  of  people,  swinging 
past  in  canoes,  feel  very  small  and  bustling  by  com- 
parison. 

43 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

And,  surely,  of  all  smells  in  the  world  the  smell  of 
many  trees  is  the  sweetest  and  most  fortifying.  The  sea 
has  a  rude  pistolling  sort  of  odour,  that  takes  you  in  the 
nostrils  like  snuff,  and  carries  with  it  a  fine  sentiment  of 
open  water  and  tall  ships;  but  the  smell  of  a  forest, 
which  comes  nearest  to  this  in  tonic  quality,  surpasses 
it  by  many  degrees  in  the  quality  of  softness.  Again, 
the  smell  of  the  sea  has  little  variety,  but  the  smell  of  a 
forest  is  infinitely  changeful ;  it  varies  with  the  hour  of 
the  day,  not  in  strength  merely,  but  in  character;  and  the 
different  sorts  of  trees,  as  you  go  from  one  zone  of  the 
wood  to  another,  seem  to  live  among  different  kinds  of 
atmosphere.  Usually  the  rosin  of  the  fir  predominates. 
But  some  woods  are  more  coquettish  in  their  habits; 
and  the  breath  of  the  forest  Mornial,  as  it  came  aboard 
upon  us  that  showery  afternoon,  was  perfumed  with 
nothing  less  delicate  than  sweetbrier. 

I  wish  our  way  had  always  lain  among  woods.  Trees 
are  the  most  civil  society.  An  old  oak  that  has  been 
growing  where  he  stands  since  before  the  Reformation, 
taller  than  many  spires,  more  stately  than  the  greater 
part  of  mountains,  and  yet  a  living  thing,  liable  to  sick- 
nesses and  death,  like  you  and  me:  is  not  that  in  itself 
a  speaking  lesson  in  history  }  But  acres  on  acres  full  of 
such  patriarchs  contiguously  rooted,  their  green  tops 
billowing  in  the  wind,  their  stalwart  younglings  push- 
ing up  about  their  knees ;  a  whole  forest,  healthy  and 
beautiful,  giving  colour  to  the  light,  giving  perfume  to 
the  air;  what  is  this  but  the  most  imposing  piece  in  na- 
ture's repertory  .^  Heine  wished  to  lie  like  Merlin  under 
the  oaks  of  Broceliande.  I  should  not  be  satisfied  with 
one  tree ;  but  if  the  wood  grew  together  like  a  banyan 

44 


ON  THE  SAMBRE  CANALIZED 

grove,  1  would  be  buried  under  the  tap-root  of  the 
whole;  my  parts  should  circulate  from  oak  to  oak;  and 
my  consciousness  should  be  diffused  abroad  in  all  the 
forest,  and  give  a  common  heart  to  that  assembly  of 
green  spires,  so  that  it,  also,  might  rejoice  in  its  own 
loveliness  and  dignity.  I  think  I  feel  a  thousand  squir- 
rels leaping  from  bough  to  bough  in  my  vast  mauso- 
leum; and  the  birds  and  the  winds  merrily  coursing 
over  its  uneven,  leafy  surface. 

Alas !  the  forest  oiMormal  is  only  a  little  bit  of  a  wood, 
and  it  was  but  for  a  little  way  that  we  skirted  by  its 
boundaries.  And  the  rest  of  the  time  the  rain  kept  com- 
ing in  squirts  and  the  wind  in  squalls,  until  one's  heart 
grew  weary  of  such  fitful,  scolding  weather.  It  was  odd 
how  the  showers  began  when  we  had  to  carry  the  boats 
over  a  lock  and  must  expose  our  legs.  They  always 
did.  This  is  a  sort  of  thing  that  readily  begets  a  per- 
sonal feeling  against  nature.  There  seems  no  reason 
why  the  shower  should  not  come  five  minutes  before 
or  five  minutes  after,  unless  you  suppose  an  intention  to 
affront  you.  The  Cigarette  had  a  mackintosh  which 
put  him  more  or  less  above  these  contrarieties.  But  I 
had  to  bear  the  brunt  uncovered.  I  began  to  remember 
that  nature  was  a  woman.  My  companion,  in  a  rosier 
temper,  listened  with  great  satisfaction  to  my  jeremiads, 
and  ironically  concurred.  He  instanced,  as  a  cognate 
matter,  the  action  of  the  tides,  '*  which,"  said  he,  **  was 
altogether  designed  for  the  confusion  of  canoeists,  except 
in  so  far  as  it  was  calculated  to  minister  to  a  barren  van- 
ity on  the  part  of  the  moon." 

At  the  last  lock,  some  little  way  out  of  Landrecies,  I 
refused  to  go  any  farther;  and  sat  in  a  drift  of  rain  by 

45 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

the  side  of  the  bank,  to  have  a  reviving  pipe.  A  viva- 
cious old  man,  whom  I  took  to  have  been  the  devil,  drew 
near,  and  questioned  me  about  our  journey.  In  the  ful- 
ness of  my  heart  I  laid  bare  our  plans  before  him.  He  said 
it  was  the  silliest  enterprise  that  ever  he  heard  of.  Why, 
did  I  not  know,  he  asked  me,  that  it  was  nothing  but 
locks,  locks,  locks,  the  whole  way?  not  to  mention 
that,  at  this  season  of  the  year,  we  would  find  the  Oise 
quite  dry?  ''Get  into  a  train,  my  little  young  man," 
said  he,  ''and  go  you  away  home  to  your  parents."  I 
was  so  astounded  at  the  man's  malice  that  I  could  only 
stare  at  him  in  silence.  A  tree  would  never  have  spoken 
to  me  like  this.  At  last  I  got  out  with  some  words. 
We  had  come  from  Antwerp  already,  I  told  him,  which 
was  a  good  long  way;  and  we  should  do  the  rest  in 
spite  of  him.  Yes,  I  said,  if  there  were  no  other  reason, 
I  would  do  it  now,  just  because  he  had  dared  to  say  we 
could  not.  The  pleasant  old  gentleman  looked  at  me 
sneeringly,  made  an  allusion  to  my  canoe,  and  marched 
off,  wagging  his  head. 

I  was  still  inwardly  fuming  when  up  came  a  pair  of 
young  fellows,  who  imagined  I  was  the  Cigarette's 
servant,  on  a  comparison,  I  suppose,  of  my  bare  jersey 
with  the  other's  mackintosh,  and  asked  me  many  ques- 
tions about  my  place  and  my  master's  character.  I  said 
he  was  a  good  enough  fellow,  but  had  this  absurd  voyage 
on  the  head.  "Oh,  no,  no,"  said  one,  "you  must  not 
say  that ;  it  is  not  absurd ;  it  is  very  courageous  of  him. " 
I  believe  these  were  a  couple  of  angels  sent  to  give  me 
heart  again.  It  was  truly  fortifying  to  reproduce  all  the 
old  man's  insinuations,  as  if  they  were  original  to  me  in 
my  character  of  a  malcontent  footman,  and  have  them 

46 


ON   THE  SAMBRE  CANALIZED 

brushed  away  like  so  many  flies  by  these  admirable 
young  men. 

When  I  recounted  this  affair  to  the  Cigarette,  ''They 
must  have  a  curious  idea  of  how  English  servants  be- 
have," says  he,  dryly,  "for  you  treated  me  like  a  brute 
beast  at  the  lock." 

I  was  a  good  deal  mortified;  but  my  temper  had 
suffered,  it  is  a  fact 


47 


AT    LANDRECIES 

At  Landrectes  the  rain  still  fell  and  the  wind  still 
blew;  but  we  found  a  double-bedded  room  with  plenty 
of  furniture,  real  water-jugs  with  real  water  in  them, 
and  dinner,  a  real  dinner,  not  innocent  of  real  wine. 
After  having  been  a  pedlar  for  one  night,  and  a  butt 
for  the  elements  during  the  whole  of  the  next  day,  these 
comfortable  circumstances  fell  on  my  heart  like  sunshine. 
There  was  an  English  fruiterer  at  dinner,  travelling  with 
a  Belgian  fruiterer;  in  the  evening  at  the  cafe  we 
watched  our  compatriot  drop  a  good  deal  of  money  at 
corks,  and  I  don't  know  why,  but  this  pleased  us. 

It  turned  out  that  we  were  to  see  more  of  Landrecies 
than  we  expected ;  for  the  weather  next  day  was  simply 
bedlamite.  It  is  not  the  place  one  would  have  chosen 
for  a  day's  rest,  for  it  consists  almost  entirely  of  fortifica- 
tions. Within  the  ramparts,  a  few  blocks  of  houses,  a 
long  row  of  barracks,  and  a  church  figure,  with  what 
countenance  they  may,  as  the  town.  There  seems  to  be 
no  trade,  and  a  shop-keeper  from  whom  I  bought  a  six- 
penny flint  and  steel  was  so  much  affected  that  he  filled 
my  pockets  with  spare  flints  into  the  bargain.  The 
only  public  buildings  that  had  any  interest  for  us  were 
the  hotel  and  the  cafe.     But  we  visited  the  church. 

48 


AT   LANDRECIES 

There  lies  Marshal  Clarke.  But  as  neither  of  us  had 
ever  heard  of  that  military  hero,  we  bore  the  associations 
of  the  spot  with  fortitude. 

In  all  garrison  towns,  guard-calls,  and  reveilles,  and 
such  like,  make  a  fine,  romantic  interlude  in  civic  busi- 
ness. Bugles,  and  drums,  and  fifes  are  of  themselves 
most  excellent  things  in  nature,  and  when  they  carry  the 
mind  to  marching  armies  and  the  picturesque  vicissi- 
tudes of  war  they  stir  up  something  proud  in  the  heart. 
But  in  a  shadow  of  a  town  like  Landrecies,  with  little 
else  moving,  these  points  of  war  made  a  proportionate 
commotion.  Indeed,  they  were  the  only  things  to  re- 
member. It  was  just  the  place  to  hear  the  round  going 
by  at  night  in  the  darkness,  with  the  solid  tramp  of 
men  marching,  and  the  startling  reverberations  of  the 
drum.  It  reminded  you  that  even  this  place  was  a 
point  in  the  great  warfaring  system  of  Europe,  and  might 
on  some  future  day  be  ringed  about  with  cannon  smoke 
and  thunder,  and  make  itself  a  name  among  strong 
towns. 

The  drum,  at  any  rate,  from  its  martial  voice  and  not- 
able physiological  effect,  nay,  even  from  its  cumbrous 
and  comical  shape,  stands  alone  among  the  instruments 
of  noise.  And  if  it  be  true,  as  I  have  heard  it  said,  that 
drums  are  covered  with  asses'  skin,  what  a  picturesque 
irony  is  there  in  that!  As  if  this  long-suffering  animal's 
hide  had  not  been  sufficiently  belaboured  during  life, 
now  by  Lyonnese  costermongers,  now  by  presumptu- 
ous Hebrew  prophets,  it  must  be  stripped  from  his  poor 
hinder  quarters  after  death,  stretched  on  a  drum,  and 
beaten  night  after  night  round  the  streets  of  every  gar- 
rison town  in  Europe,    And  up  the  heights  of  Alma 

49 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

and  Spicheren,  and  wherever  death  has  his  red  flag 
a-flying,  and  sounds  his  own  potent  tuck  upon  the  can- 
nons, there  also  must  the  drummer  boy,  hurrying  with 
white  face  over  fallen  comrades,  batter  and  bemaul  this 
slip  of  skin  from  the  loins  of  peaceable  donkeys. 

Generally  a  man  is  never  more  uselessly  employed 
than  when  he  is  at  this  trick  of  bastinadoing  asses'  hide. 
We  know  what  effect  it  has  in  life,  and  how  your  dull 
ass  will  not  mend  his  pace  with  beating.  But  in  this 
state  of  mummy  and  melancholy  survival  of  itself,  when 
the  hollow  skin  reverberates  to  the  drummer's  wrist, 
and  each  dub-a-dub  goes  direct  to  a  man's  heart,  and 
puts  madness  there,  and  that  disposition  of  the  pulses 
which  we,  in  our  big  way  of  talking,  nickname  Hero- 
ism,—  is  there  not  something  in  the  nature  of  a  revenge 
upon  the  donkey's  persecutors  ?  Of  old,  he  might  say, 
you  drubbed  me  up  hill  and  down  dale  and  I  must  en- 
dure; but  now  that  I  am  dead  those  dull  thwacks  that 
were  scarcely  audible  in  country  lanes  have  become  stir- 
ring music  in  front  of  the  brigade,  and  for  every  blow 
that  you  lay  on  my  old  great-coat,  you  will  see  a  com- 
rade stumble  and  fall. 

Not  long  after  the  drums  had  passed  the  cafe,  the  Ci- 
garette and  the  Arethusa  began  to  grow  sleepy,  and  set 
out  for  the  hotel,  which  was  only  a  door  or  two  away. 
But  although  we  had  been  somewhat  indifferent  to 
Landrecies,  Landrecies  had  not  been  indifferent  to  us. 
All  day,  we  learned,  people  had  been  running  out  be- 
tween the  squalls  to  visit  our  two  boats.  Hundreds  of 
persons,  so  said  report,  although  it  fitted  ill  with  our 
idea  of  the  town, —  hundreds  of  persons  had  inspected 
them  where  they  lay  in  a  coal-shed.     We  were  becom- 

50 


AT  LANDRECIES 

ing  lions  in  Landrecies,  who  had  been  only  pedlars  the 
night  before  in  Pont 

And  now,  when  we  left  the  cafe,  we  were  pursued 
and  overtaken  at  the  hotel  door  by  no  less  a  person  than 
the  Juge  de  Paix ;  a  functionary,  as  far  as  I  can  make 
■out,  of  the  character  of  a  Scotch  Sheriff  Substitute.  He 
gave  us  his  card  and  invited  us  to  sup  with  him  on  the 
spot,  very  neatly,  very  gracefully,  as  Frenchmen  can  do 
these  things.  It  was  for  the  credit  of  Landrecies,  said 
he ;  and  although  we  knew  very  well  how  little  credit 
we  could  do  the  place,  we  must  have  been  churlish  fel- 
lows to  refuse  an  invitation  so  politely  introduced. 

The  house  of  the  judge  was  close  by ;  it  was  a  well- 
appointed  bachelor's  establishment,  with  a  curious  col- 
lection of  old  brass  warming-pans  upon  the  walls.  Some 
of  these  were  most  elaborately  carved.  It  seemed  a 
picturesque  idea  for  a  collector.  You  could  not  help 
thinking  how  many  nightcaps  had  wagged  over  these 
warming-pans  in  past  generations;  what  jests  may  have 
been  made  and  kisses  taken  while  they  were  in  ser- 
vice; and  how  often  they  had  been  uselessly  paraded 
in  the  bed  of  death.  If  they  could  only  speak,  at  what 
absurd,  indecorous,  and  tragical  scenes  had  they  not 
been  present  ? 

The  wine  was  excellent.  When  we  made  the  judge 
our  compliments  upon  a  bottle,  "I  do  not  give  it  you 
as  my  worst,"  said  he.  I  wonder  when  Englishmen 
will  learn  these  hospitable  graces.  They  are  worth 
learning;  they  set  off  life  and  make  ordinary  moments 
ornamental. 

There  were  two  other  Landrecienses  present.  One 
'Was  the  collector  of  something  or  other,  I  forget  what; 

5i 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

the  other,  we  were  told,  was  the  principal  notary  of  the 
place.  So  it  happened  that  we  all  five  more  or  less  fol- 
lowed the  law.  At  this  rate,  the  talk  was  pretty  certain 
to  become  technical.  The  Cigarette  expounded  the  poor 
laws  very  magisterially.  And  a  little  later  I  found  my- 
self laying  down  the  Scotch  law  of  illegitimacy,  of  which 
I  am  glad  to  say  1  know  nothing.  The  collector  and  the 
notary,  who  were  both  married  men,  accused  the  judge, 
who  was  a  bachelor,  of  having  started  the  subject.  He 
deprecated  the  charge,  with  a  conscious,  pleased  air, 
just  like  all  the  men  I  have  ever  seen,  be  they  French  or 
English,  f  How  strange  that  we  should  all,  in  our  un- 
guarded moments,  rather^  like  to  be  thought  a  bit  of  a 
rogue  with  the  women ! 

As  the  evening  went  on  the  wine  grew  more  to  my 
taste;  the  spirits  proved  better  than  the  wine;  the  com- 
pany was  genial.  This  was  the  highest  water  mark  of 
popular  favour  on  the  whole  cruise.  After  all,  being  in 
a  judge's  house,  was  there  not  something  semi-official 
in  the  tribute  ?  And  so,  remembering  what  a  great 
country  France  is,  we  did  full  justice  to  our  entertain- 
ment. Landrecies  had  been  a  long  while  asleep  before 
we  returned  to  the  hotel;  and  the  sentries  on  the  ram- 
parts were  already  looking  for  daybreak. 


52 


SAMBRE  AND  OISE  CANAL 

CANAL  BOATS 

Next  day  we  made  a  late  start  in  the  rain.  The  judge 
politely  escorted  us  to  the  end  of  the  lock  under  an  um- 
brella. We  had  now  brought  ourselves  to  a  pitch  of 
humility,  in  the  matter  of  weather,  not  often  attained 
except  in  the  Scotch  Highlands.  A  rag  of  blue  sky  or 
a  glimpse  of  sunshine  set  our  hearts  singing;  and  when 
the  rain  was  not  heavy  we  counted  the  day  almost 
fair. 

Long  lines  of  barges  lay  one  after  another  along  the 
canal,  many  of  them  looking  mighty  spruce  and  ship- 
shape in  their  jerkin  of  Archangel  tar  picked  out  with 
white  and  green.  Some  carried  gay  iron  railings  and 
quite  a  parterre  of  flower-pots.  Children  played  on  the 
decks,  as  heedless  of  the  rain  as  if  they  had  been  broughV 
up  on  Loch  Caron  side ;  men  fished  over  the  gunwale, 
some  of  them  under  umbrellas;  women  did  their  wash- 
ing; and  every  barge  boasted  its  mongrel  cur  by  way 
of  watch-dog.  Each  one  barked  furiously  at  the  canoes, 
running  alongside  until  he  had  got  to  the  end  of  his  own 
ship,  and  so  passing  on  the  word  to  the  dog  aboard  the 
next.  We  must  have  seen  something  like  a  hundred 
of  these  embai  kations  in  the  course  of  that  day's  paddle, 

53 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

ranged  one  after  another  like  the  houses  in  a  street;  and 
from  not  one  of  them  were  we  disappointed  of  this  ac- 
companiment. It  was  like  visiting  a  menagerie,  the 
Cigarette  remarked. 

These  little  cities  by  the  canal  side  had  a  very  odd 
effect  upon  the  mind.  They  seemed,  with  their  flower- 
pots and  smoking  chimneys,  their  washings  and  din- 
ners, a  rooted  piece  of  nature  in  the  scene ;  and  yet  if 
only  the  canal  below  were  to  open,  one  junk  after  an- 
other would  hoist  sail  or  harness  horses  and  swim  away 
into  all  parts  of  France;  and  the  impromptu  hamlet 
would  separate,  house  by  house,  to  the  four  winds. 
The  children  who  played  together  to-day  by  the  Sambre 
and  Oise  Canal,  each  at  his  own  father's  threshold,  when 
and  where  might  they  next  meet  } 

For  some  time  past  the  subject  of  barges  had  occupied 
a  great  deal  of  our  talk,  and  we  had  projected  an  old  age 
on  the  canals  of  Europe.  It  was  to  be  the  most  lei- 
surely of  progresses,  now  on  a  swift  river  at  the  tail  of  a 
steamboat,  now  waiting  horses  for  days  together  on 
some  inconsiderable  junction.  We  should  be  seen  pot- 
tering on  deck  in  all  the  dignity  of  years,  our  white 
beards  falling  into  our  laps.  We  were  ever  to  be  busied 
among  paint-pots,  so  that  there  should  be  no  white 
fresher  and  no  green  more  emerald  than  ours,  in  all  the 
navy  of  the  canals.  There  should  be  books  in  the  cabin, 
and  tobacco  jars,  and  some  old  Burgundy  as  red  as  a 
November  sunset  and  as  odorous  as  a  violet  in  April. 
There  should  be  a  flageolet  whence  the  Cigarette,  with 
cunning  touch,  should  draw  melting  music  under  the 
stars;  or  perhaps,  laying  that  aside,  upraise  his  voice  — 
somewhat  thinner  than  of  yore,  and  with  here  and  there 

54 


SAMBRE  AND   OISE   CANAL 

a  quaver,  or  call  it  a  natural  grace  note  —  in  rich  and 
solemn  psalmody. 

All  this  simmering  in  my  mind  set  me  wishing  to  go 
aboard  one  of  these  ideal  houses  of  lounging.  I  had 
plenty  to  choose  from,  as  I  coasted  one  after  another  and 
the  dogs  bayed  at  me  for  a  vagrant.  At  last  1  saw  a  nice 
old  man  and  his  wife  looking  at  me  with  some  interest, 
so  I  gave  them  good  day  and  pulled  up  alongside.  1 
began  with  a  remark  upon  their  dog,  which  had  some- 
what the  look  of  a  pointer;  thence  I  slid  into  a  compli- 
ment on  Madame's  flowers,  and  thence  into  a  word  m 
praise  of  their  way  of  life. 

If  you  ventured  on  such  an  experiment  in  England  you 
would  get  a  slap  in  the  face  at  once.  The  life  would  be 
shown  to  be  a  vile  one,  not  without  a  side  shot  at  your 
better  fortune.  Now,  what  I  like  so  much  in  France  is 
the  clear,  unflinching  recognition  by  everybody  of  his 
own  luck.  They  all  know  on  which  side  their  bread  is 
buttered,  and  take  a  pleasure  in  showing  it  to  others, 
which  is  surely  the  better  part  of  religion.  And  they 
scorn  to  make  a  poor  mouth  over  their  poverty,  which 
I  take  to  be  the  better  part  of  manliness.  I  have  heard 
a  woman  in  quite  a  better  position  at  home,  with  a  good 
bit  of  money  in  hand,  refer  to  her  own  child  with  a  hor- 
rid whine  as  "a  poor  man's  child."  I  would  not  say 
such  a  thing  to  the  Duke  of  Westminster.  And  the 
French  are  full  of  this  spirit  of  independence.  Perhaps 
it  is  the  result  of  republican  institutions,  as  they  call 
them.  Much  more  likely  it  is  because  there  are  so  few 
people  really  poor  that  the  whiners  are  not  enough  to 
keep  each  other  in  countenance. 

The  people  on  the  barge  were  delighted  to  hear  that 

55 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

I  admired  their  state.  They  understood  perfectly  well, 
they  told  me,  how  Monsieur  envied  them.  Without 
doubt  Monsieur  was  rich,  and  in  that  case  he  might 
make  a  canal-boat  as  pretty  as  a  villa — joH  comme  un 
chateau.  And  with  that  they  invited  me  on  board  their 
own  water  villa.  They  apologized  for  their  cabin ;  they 
had  not  been  rich  enough  to  make  it  as  it  ought  to  be. 

"The  fire  should  have  been  here,  at  this  side,"  ex- 
plained the  husband.  "Then  one  might  have  a  writ- 
ing-table in  the  middle  —  books  —  and"  (comprehen- 
sively) "all.  It  would  be  quite  coquettish  —  ca  set  ait 
tout-d-fait  coquet. ' '  And  he  looked  about  him  as  though 
the  improvements  were  already  made.  It  was  plainly 
not  the  first  time  that  he  had  thus  beautified  his  cabin 
in  imagination ;  and  when  next  he  makes  a  hit,  I  should 
expect  to  see  the  writing-table  in  the  middle. 

Madame  had  three  birds  in  a  cage.  They  were  no 
great  thing,  she  explained.  Fine  birds  were  so  dear. 
They  had  sought  to  get  a  HoUandais  last  winter  in  Rouen 
{Rouen,  thought  I;  and  is  this  whole  mansion,  with  its 
dogs,  and  birds,  and  smoking  chimneys,  so  far  a  trav- 
eller as  that,  and  as  homely  an  object  among  the  cliffs 
and  orchards  of  the  Seine  as  on  the  green  plains  oiSam- 
bre  ?)  —  they  had  sought  to  get  a  HoUandais  last  winter 
in  Rouen;  but  these  cost  fifteen  francs  apiece  —  picture 
it  —  fifteen  francs ! 

"  Pour  un  tout  petit  oiseau  —  For  quite  a  little  bird," 
added  the  husband. 

As  I  continued  to  admire,  the  apologetics  died  away, 
and  the  good  people  began  to  brag  of  their  barge  and 
their  happy  condition  in  life,  as  if  they  had  been  Em- 
peror and  Empress  of  the  Indies.     It  was,  in  the  Scotch 

56 


SAMBRE   AND   OISE   CANAL 

phrase,  a  good  hearing,  and  put  me  in  good-humour 
with  the  world.  If  people  knew  what  an  inspiriting 
thing  it  is  to  hear  a  man  boasting,  so  long  as  he  boasts 
of  what  he  really  has,  I  believe  they  would  do  it  more 
freely  and  with  a  better  grace. 

They  began  to  ask  about  our  voyage.  You  should 
have  seen  how  they  sympathised.  They  seemed  half 
ready  to  give  up  their  barge  and  follow  us.  But  these 
canaletti  are  only  gypsies  semi-domesticated.  The 
semi-domestication  came  out  in  rather  a  pretty  form. 
Suddenly  Madame's  brow  darkened.  '*  Cependant/' 
she  began,  and  then  stopped ;  and  then  began  again  by 
asking  me  if  I  were  single. 

"Yes,"  said  I. 

**  And  your  friend  who  went  by  just  now  ?  " 

He  also  was  unmarried. 

Oh,  then,  all  was  well.  She  could  not  have  wives 
left  alone  at  home ;  but  since  there  were  no  wives  in 
the  question,  we  were  doing  the  best  we  could. 

**To  see  about  one  in  the  world,"  said  the  husband, 
''//  ny  a  que  ga  —  there  is  nothing  else  worth  while. 
A  man,  look  you,  who  sticks  in  his  own  village  like 
a  bear,"  he  went  on,  "very  well,  he  sees  nothing. 
And  then  death  is  the  end  of  all.  And  he  has  seen 
nothing." 

Madame  reminded  her  husband  of  an  Englishman  who 
had  come  up  this  canal  in  a  steamer. 

"Perhaps  Mr.  Moens  in  the  Ytene,"  I  suggested. 

"That's  it,"  assented  the  husband.  "He  had  his 
wife  and  family  with  him,  and  servants.  He  came 
ashore  at  all  the  locks  and  asked  the  name  of  the 
villages,  whether  from  boatmen  or  lock-keepers;  and 

57 


AN    INLAND   VuYAGE 

then  he  wrote,  wrote  them  down.     Oh,  he  wrote  enor- 
mously!     I  suppose  it  was  a  wager." 

A  wager  was  a  common  enough  explanation  for  our 
own  exploits,  but  it  seemed  an  original  reason  for  tak- 
ing notes. 


58 


THE  OISE  IN  FLOOD 

Before  nine  next  morning  the  two  canoes  were  in- 
stalled on  a  light  country  cart  at  Etreux;  and  we  were 
soon  following  them  along  the  side  of  a  pleasant  valley 
full  of  hop-gardens  and  poplars.  Agreeable  villages  lay 
here  and  there  on  the  slope  of  the  hill:  notably,  Tu- 
pigny,  with  the  hop-poles  hanging  their  garlands  in  the 
very  street,  and  the  houses  clustered  with  grapes.  There 
was  a  faint  enthusiasm  on  our  passage;  weavers  put 
their  heads  to  the  windows;  children  cried  out  in  ecstasy 
at  sight  of  the  two  ''  boaties  "  —  barquettes;  and  bloused 
pedestrians,  who  were  acquainted  with  our  charioteer, 
jested  with  him  on  the  nature  of  his  freight. 

We  had  a  shower  or  two,  but  light  and  flying.  The 
air  was  clean  and  sweet  among  all  these  green  fields  and 
green  things  growing.  There  was  not  a  touch  of  autumn 
in  the  weather.  And  when,  at  Vadencourt,  we  launched 
from  a  little  lawn  opposite  a  mill,  the  sun  broke  forth  and 
set  all  the  leaves  shining  in  the  valley  of  the  Oise. 

The  river  was  swollen  with  the  long  rains.  From 
Vadencourt  all  the  way  to  Origny  it  ran  with  ever- 
quickening  speed,  taking  fresh  heart  at  each  mile,  and 
racing  as  though  it  already  smelt  the  sea.  The  water 
was  yellow  and  turbulent,  swung  with  an  angry  eddy 

59 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

among  half-submerged  willows,  and  made  an  angry- 
clatter  along  stony  shores.  The  course  kept  turning  and 
turning  in  a  narrow  and  well-timbered  valley.  Now  the 
river  would  approach  the  side,  and  run  gliding  along 
the  chalky  base  of  the  hill,  and  show  us  a  few  open  colza 
fields  among  the  trees.  Now  it  would  skirt  the  garden- 
walls  of  houses,  where  we  might  catch  a  glimpse  through 
a  doorway,  and  see  a  priest  pacing  in  the  checkered  sun- 
light. Again,  the  foliage  closed  so  thickly  in  front  that 
there  seemed  to  be  no  issue;  only  a  thicket  of  willows 
overtopped  by  elms  and  poplars,  under  which  the  river 
ran  flush  and  fleet,  and  where  a  kingfisher  flew  past 
like  a  piece  of  the  blue  sky.  On  these  different  mani- 
festations the  sun  poured  its  clear  and  catholic  looks. 
The  shadows  lay  as  solid  on  the  swift  surface  of  the 
stream  as  on  the  stable  meadows.  The  light  sparkled 
golden  in  the  dancing  poplar  leaves,  and  brought  the  hills 
into  communion  with  our  eyes.  And  all  the  while  the 
river  never  stopped  running  or  took  breath ;  and  the  reeds 
along  the  whole  valley  stood  shivering  from  top  to  toe. 
There  should  be  some  myth  (but  if  there  is,  I  know 
it  not)  founded  on  the  shivering  of  the  reeds.  There 
are  not  many  things  in  nature  more  striking  to  man's 
eye.  It  is  such  an  eloquent  pantomime  of  terror;  and 
to  see  such  a  number  of  terrified  creatures  taking  sanc- 
tuary in  every  nook  along  the  shore  is  enough  to  infect 
a  silly  human  with  alarm.  Perhaps  they  are  only  acold, 
and  no  wonder,  standing  waist  deep  in  the  stream. 
Or,  perhaps,  they  have  never  got  accustomed  to  the 
speed  and  fury  of  the  river's  flux,  or  the  miracle  of  its 
continuous  body.  Pan  once  played  upon  their  fore- 
fathers ;  and  so,  by  the  hands  of  his  river,  he  still  plays 

60 


THE  OISE  IN   FLOOD 

Upon  these  later  generations  down  all  the  valley  of  the 
Oise;  and  plays  the  same  air,  both  sweet  and  shrill,  to 
tell  us  of  the  beauty  and  the  terror  of  the  world. 

The  canoe  was  like  a  leaf  in  the  current.  It  took  it 
up  and  shook  it,  and  carried  it  masterfully  away,  like  a 
Centaur  carrying  off  a  nymph.  To  keep  some  com- 
mand on  our  direction  required  hard  and  diligent  plying 
of  the  paddle.  The  river  was  in  such  a  hurry  for  the 
sea!  Every  drop  of  water  ran  in  a  panic,  like  so  many 
people  in  a  frightened  crowd.  But  what  crowd  was 
ever  so  numerous  or  so  single-minded  }  All  the  objects 
of  sight  went  by  at  a  dance  measure ;  the  eyesight  raced 
with  the  racing  river;  the  exigencies  of  every  moment 
kept  the  pegs  screwed  so  tight  that  our  being  quivered 
like  a  well-tuned  instrument,  and  the  blood  shook  off 
its  lethargy,  and  trotted  through  all  the  highways  and 
byways  of  the  veins  and  arteries,  and  in  and  out  of  the 
heart,  as  if  circulation  were  but  a  holiday  journey  and 
not  the  daily  moil  of  threescore  years  and  ten.  The 
reeds  might  nod  their  heads  in  warning,  and  with  trem- 
ulous gestures  tell  how  the  river  was  as  cruel  as  it  was 
strong  and  cold,  and  how  death  lurked  in  the  eddy  un- 
derneath the  willows.  But  the  reeds  had  to  stand  where 
they  were;  and  those  who  stand  still  are  always  timid 
advisers.  As  for  us,  we  could  have  shouted  aloud.  If 
this  lively  and  beautiful  river  were,  indeed,  a  thing  of 
death's  contrivance,  the  old  ashen  rogue  had  famously 
outwitted  himself  with  us.  I  was  living  three  to  the 
minute.  I  was  scoring  points  against  him  every  stroke 
of  my  paddle,  every  turn  of  the  stream.  I  have  rarely 
had  better  profit  of  my  life. 

For  I  think  we  may  look  upon  our  little  private  war 
61 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

with  death  somewhat  in  this  light.  If  a  man  knows  he 
will  sooner  or  later  be  robbed  upon  a  journey,  he  will 
have  a  bottle  of  the  best  in  every  inn,  and  look  upon  all 
his  extravagances  as  so  much  gained  upon  the  thieves.  \^- 
And  above  all,  where,  instead  of  simply  spending,  he 
makes  a  profitable  investment  for  some  of  his  money, 
when  it  will  be  out  of  risk  of  loss.  'So  every  bit  of  brisk 
living,  and  above  all  when  it  is  healthful,  is  just  so  much 
gained  upon  the  wholesale  filcher,  death.  We  shall 
have  the  less  in  our  pockets,  the  more  in  our  stomachs, 
when  he  cries.  Stand  and  deliver.  A  swift  stream  is  a 
favourite  artifice  of  his,  and  one  that  brings  him  in  a  com- 
fortable thing  per  annum ;  but  when  he  and  I  come  to 
settle  our  accounts  I  shall  whistle  in  his  face  for  these 
hours  upon  the  upper  Otse. 

Towards  afternoon  we  got  fairly  drunken  with  the 
sunshine  and  the  exhilaration  of  the  pace.  We  could 
no  longer  contain  ourselves  and  our  content.  The 
canoes  were  too  small  for  us;  we  must  be  out  and 
stretch  ourselves  on  shore.  And  so  in  a  green  meadow 
we  bestowed  our  limbs  on  the  grass,  and  smoked  dei- 
fying tobacco,  and  proclaimed  the  world  excellent.  It 
was  the  last  good  hour  of  the  day,  and  I  dwell  upon  it 
with  extreme  complacency. 

On  one  side  of  the  valley,  high  upon  the  chalky  sum- 
mit of  the  hill,  a  ploughman  with  his  team  appeared  and 
disappeared  at  regular  intervals.  At  each  revelation  he 
stood  still  for  a  few  seconds  against  the  sky,  for  all  the 
world  (as  the  Cigarette  declared)  like  a  toy  Burns  who 
had  just  ploughed  up  the  Mountain  Daisy.  He  was 
the  only  living  thing  within  view,  unless  we  are  to 
count  the  river. 

62 


THE  OISE  IN   FLOOD 

On  the  other  side  of  the  valley  a  group  of  red  roofs 
and  a  belfry  showed  among  the  foliage.  Thence  some 
inspired  bell-ringer  made  the  afternoon  musical  on  a 
chime  of  bells.  There  was  something  very  sweet  and 
taking  in  the  air  he  played,  and  we  thought  we  had 
never  heard  bells  speak  so  intelligibly  or  sing  so  melo- 
diously as  these.  It  must  have  been  to  some  such  meas- 
ure that  the  spinners  and  the  young  maids  sang,  *'  Come 
away,  Death,"  in  the  Shakespearian  lllyria.  There  is 
so  often  a  threatening  note,  something  blatant  and  me- 
tallic, in  the  voice  of  bells,  that  I  believe  we  have  fully 
more  pain  than  pleasure  from  hearing  them ;  but  these, 
as  they  sounded  abroad,  now  high,  now  low,  now  with 
a  plaintive  cadence  that  caught  the  ear  like  the  burden 
of  a  popular  song,  were  always  moderate  and  tunable, 
and  seemed  to  fall  in  with  the  spirit  of  still,  rustic  places, 
like  the  noise  of  a  waterfall  or  the  babble  of  a  rookery  in 
spring.  I  could  have  asked  the  bell-ringer  for  his  bless- 
ing, good,  sedate  old  man,  who  swung  the  rope  so 
gently  to  the  time  of  his  meditations.  I  could  have 
blessed  the  priest  or  the  heritors,  or  whoever  may  be 
concerned  with  such  affairs  in  France,  who  had  left 
these  sweet  old  bells  to  gladden  the  afternoon,  and  not 
held  meetings,  and  made  collections,  and  had  their 
names  repeatedly  printed  in  the  local  paper,  to  rig  up  a 
peal  of  brand-new,  brazen,  Birmtngbam-hearted  substi- 
tutes, who  should  bombard  their  sides  to  the  provoca- 
tion of  a  brand-new  bell-ringer,  and  fill  the  echoes  of 
the  valley  with  terror  and  riot. 

At  last  the  bells  ceased,  and  with  their  note  the  sun 
withdrew.  The  piece  was  at  an  end;  shadow  and 
silence  possessed  the  valley  of  the  Oise.     We  took  to 

63 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

the  paddle  with  glad  hearts,  like  people  who  have  sat 
out  a  noble  performance  and  return  to  work.  The  river 
was  more  dangerous  here;  it  ran  swifter,  the  eddies 
were  more  sudden  and  violent.  All  the  way  down  we 
had  had  our  fill  of  difficulties.  Sometimes  it  was  a  weir 
which  could  be  shot,  sometimes  one  so  shallow  and 
full  of  stakes  that  we  must  withdraw  the  boats  from  the 
water  and  carry  them  round.  But  the  chief  sort  of  ob- 
stacle was  a  consequence  of  the  late  high  winds.  Every 
two  or  three  hundred  yards  a  tree  had  fallen  across  the 
river,  and  usually  involved  more  than  another  in  its  fall. 
Often  there  was  free  water  at  the  end,  and  we  could 
steer  round  the  leafy  promontory  and  hear  the  water 
sucking  and  bubbling  among  the  twigs.  Often,  again, 
when  the  tree  reached  from  bank  to  bank,  there  was 
room,  by  lying  close,  to  shoot  through  underneath, 
canoe  and  all.  Sometimes  it  was  necessary  to  get  out 
upon  the  trunk  itself  and  pull  the  boats  across;  and 
sometimes,  where  the  stream  was  too  impetuous  for 
this,  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  land  and  "carry 
over."  This  made  a  fine  series  of  accidents  in  the  day's 
career,  and  kept  us  aware  of  ourselves. 

Shortly  after  our  re-embarkation,  while  I  was  leading 
by  a  long  way,  and  still  full  of  a  noble,  exulting  spirit 
in  honour  of  the  sun,  the  swift  pace,  and  the  church  bells, 
the  river  made  one  of  its  leonine  pounces  round  a  corner, 
and  I  was  aware  of  another  fallen  tree  within  a  stone- 
cast.  I  had  my  back-board  down  in  a  trice,  and  aimed 
for  a  place  where  the  trunk  seemed  high  enough  above 
the  water,  and  the  branches  not  too  thick  to  let  me  slip 
below.  When  a  man  has  just  vowed  eternal  brother- 
hood with  the  universe  he  is  not  in  a  temper  to  take 

64 


THE  OISE  IN   FLOOD 

great  determinations  coolly,  and  this,  which  might  have 
been  a  very  important  determination  for  me,  had  not 
been  taken  under  a  happy  star.  The  tree  caught  me 
about  the  chest,  and  while  I  was  yet  struggling  to  make 
less  of  myself  and  get  through,  the  river  took  the  mat- 
ter out  of  my  hands  and  bereaved  me  of  my  boat.  The 
Arethvsa  swung  round  broadside  on,  leaned  over, 
ejected  so  much  of  me  as  still  remained  on  board,  and, 
thus  disencumbered,  whipped  under  the  tree,  righted, 
and  went  merrily  away  down  stream. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  it  was  before  I  scrambled  on 
to  the  tree  to  which  I  was  left  clinging,  but  it  was  longer 
than  I  cared  about.  My  thoughts  were  of  a  grave  and 
almost  sombre  character,  but  I  still  clung  to  my  paddle. 
The  stream  ran  away  with  my  heels  as  fast  as  I  could 
pull  up  my  shoulders,  and  I  seemed,  by  the  weight,  to 
have  all  the  water  of  the  Oise  in  my  trousers'  pockets. 
You  can  never  know,  till  you  try  it,  what  a  dead  pull  a 
river  makes  against  a  man.  Death  himself  had  me  by 
the  heels,  for  this  was  his  last  ambuscade,  and  he  must 
now  join  personally  in  the  fray.  And  still  I  held  to  my 
paddle.  At  last  I  dragged  myself  on  to  my  stomach  on 
the  trunk,  and  lay  there  a  breathless  sop,  with  a  min- 
gled sense  of  humour  and  injustice.  A  poor  figure  I  must 
have  presented  to  Burns  upon  the  hill-top  with  his  team. 
But  there  was  the  paddle  in  my  hand.  On  my  tomb, 
if  ever  I  have  one,  I  mean  to  get  these  words  inscribed : 
**  He  clung  to  his  paddle." 

The  Cigarette  had  gone  past  awhile  before;  for,  as  I 
might  have  observed,  if  I  had  been  a  little  less  pleased 
with  the  universe  at  the  moment,  there  was  a  clear  way 
round  the  tree-top  at  the  farther  side.     He  had  offered 

65 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

his  services  to  haul  me  out,  but,  as  I  was  then  already 
on  my  elbows,  I  had  declined  and  sent  him  down  stream 
after  the  truant  Arethusa.  The  stream  was  too  rapid  for 
a  man  to  mount  with  one  canoe,  let  alone  two,  upon 
his  hands.  So  1  crawled  along  the  trunk  to  shore,  and 
proceeded  down  the  meadows  by  the  river-side.  I  was 
so  cold  that  my  heart  was  sore.  1  had  now  an  idea  of 
my  own  why  the  reeds  so  bitterly  shivered.  I  could 
have  given  any  of  them  a  lesson.  The  Cigarette  re- 
marked, facetiously,  that  he  thought  1  was  "taking  ex- 
ercise "  as  1  drew  near,  until  he  made  out  for  certain 
that  I  was  only  twittering  with  cold.  I  had  a  rub-down 
with  a  towel,  and  donned  a  dry  suit  from  the  india- 
rubber  bag.  But  I  was  not  my  own  man  again  for  the 
rest  of  the  voyage.  I  had  a  queasy  sense  that  I  wore 
my  last  dry  clothes  upon  my  body.  The  struggle  had 
tired  me;  and,  perhaps,  whether  1  knew  it  or  not,  1  was 
a  little  dashed  in  spirit.  The  devouring  element  in  the 
universe  had  leaped  out  against  me,  in  this  green  valley 
quickened  by  a  running  stream.  The  bells  were  all  very 
pretty  in  their  way,  but  I  had  heard  some  of  the  hollow 
notes  of  Pan's  music.  Would  the  wicked  river  drag 
me  down  by  the  heels,  indeed  }  and  look  so  beautiful 
all  the  time  ?  Nature's  good-humour  was  only  skin  deep, 
after  all. 

There  was  still  a  long  way  to  go  by  the  winding  course 
of  the  stream,  and  darkness  had  fallen,  and  a  late  bell 
was  ringing  in  Origny  Sainte-Benoite  when  we  arrived. 


66 


ORIGNY  SAINTE-BENOITE 

A   BY-DAY 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  the  church  bells  had 
little  rest;  indeed,  I  do  not  think  I  remember  anywhere 
else  so  great  a  choice  of  services  as  were  here  offered  to 
the  devout.  And  while  the  bells  made  merry  in  the 
sunshine,  all  the  world  with  his  dog  was  out  shooting 
among  the  beets  and  colza. 

In  the  morning  a  hawker  and  his  wife  went  down  the 
street  at  a  foot-pace,  singing  to  a  very  slow,  lamentable 
music,  '*  O  France,  mes  amours."  It  brought  everybody 
to  the  door;  and  when  our  landlady  called  in  the  man  to 
buy  the  words,  he  had  not  a  copy  of  them  left.  She  was 
not  the  first  nor  the  second  who  had  been  taken  with 
the  song.  There  is  something  very  pathetic  in  the  love 
of  the  French  people,  since  the  war,  for  dismal  patriotic 
music-making.  I  have  watched  a  forester  from  Alsace 
while  some  one  was  singing '  'Les  malheurs  dela  France, " 
at  a  baptismal  party  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Fontaine- 
bleau.  He  arose  from  the  table  and  took  his  son  aside, 
close  by  where  I  was  standing.  "Listen,  listen,"  he 
said,  bearing  on  the  boy's  shoulder,  ''and  remember 
this,  my  son."  A  little  after  he  went  out  into  the 
garden  suddenly,  and  I  could  hear  him  sobbing  in  the 
darkness. 

67 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

The  humiliation  of  their  arms  and  the  loss  of  Alsace 
and  Lorraine  made  a  sore  pull  on  the  endurance  of  this 
sensitive  people;  and  their  hearts  are  still  hot,  not  so 
much  against  Germany  as  against  the  Empire.  In  what 
other  country  will  you  find  a  patriotic  ditty  bring  all  the 
world  into  the  street?  But  affliction  heightens  love; 
and  we  shall  never  know  we  are  Englishmen  until  we 
have  lost  India.  Independent  America  is  still  the  cross 
of  my  existence;  I  cannot  think  of  Farmer  George  with- 
out abhorrence;  and  I  never  feel  more  warmly  to  my 
own  land  than  when  I  see  the  stars  and  stripes,  and  re- 
member what  our  empire  might  have  been. 

The  hawker's  little  book,  which  I  purchased,  was  a 
curious  mixture.  Side  by  side  with  the  flippant,  rowdy 
nonsense  of  the  Paris  music-halls  there  were  many 
pastoral  pieces,  not  without  a  touch  of  poetry,  I  thought, 
and  instinct  with  the  brave  independence  of  the  poorer 
class  in  France.  There  you  might  read  how  the  wood- 
cutter gloried  in  his  axe,  and  the  gardener  scorned  to  be 
ashamed  of  his  spade.  It  was  not  very  well  written, 
this  poetry  of  labor,  but  the  pluck  of  the  sentiment  re- 
deemed what  was  weak  or  wordy  in  the  expression. 
The  martial  and  the  patriotic  pieces,  on  the  other  hand, 
were  tearful,  womanish  productions  one  and  all.  The 
poet  had  passed  under  the  Caudine  Forks;  he  sang  for 
an  army  visiting  the  tomb  of  its  old  renown,  with  arms 
reversed ;  and  sang  not  of  victory,  but  of  death.  There 
was  a  number  in  the  hawker's  collection  called  Conscrits 
Francais,  which  may  rank  among  the  most  dissuasive 
war-lyrics  on  record.  It  would  not  be  possible  to  fight 
at  all  in  such  a  spirit.  The  bravest  conscript  would  turn 
pale  if  such  a  ditty  were  struck  up  beside  him  on  the 

6S> 


ORIGNY  SAINTE-BENOITE 

morning  of  battle;  and  whole  regiments  would  pile 
their  arms  to  its  tune. 

\i  Fletcher  oi  Saltoun  is  in  the  right  about  the  influence 
of  national  songs,  you  would  say  France  was  come  to  a 
poor  pass.  But  the  thing  will  work  its  own  cure,  and  a 
sound-hearted  and  courageous  people  weary  at  length 
of  snivelling  over  their  disasters.  Already  Paul  Deroulede 
has  written  some  manly  military  verses.  There  is  not 
much  of  the  trumpet  note  in  them,  perhaps,  to  stir  a 
man's  heart  in  his  bosom ;  they  lack  the  lyrical  elation, 
and  move  slowly;  but  they  are  written  in  a  grave, 
honourable,  stoical  spirit,  which  should  carry  soldiers 
far  in  a  good  cause.  One  feels  as  if  one  would  like  to 
trust  Deroulede  with  something.  It  will  be  happy  if  he 
can  so  far  inoculate  his  fellow-countrymen  that  they  may 
be  trusted  with  their  own  future.  And,  in  the  mean  time, 
here  is  an  antidote  to  ''French  Conscripts"  and  much 
other  doleful  versification. 

We  had  left  the  boats  over  night  in  the  custody  of 
one  whom  we  shall  call  Carnival.  I  did  not  properly 
catch  his  name,  and  perhaps  that  was  not  unfortunate 
for  him,  as  I  am  not  in  a  position  to  hand  him  down  with 
honourto  posterity.  To  this  person's  premises  we  strolled 
in  the  course  of  the  day,  and  found  quite  a  little  deputa- 
tion inspecting  the  canoes.  There  was  a  stout  gentle- 
man with  a  knowledge  of  the  river,  which  he  seemed 
eager  to  impart.  There  was  a  very  elegant  young 
gentleman  in  a  black  coat,  with  a  smattering  of  English, 
who  led  the  talk  at  once  to  the  Oxford  and  Cam- 
bridge boat  race.  And  then  there  were  three  handsome 
girls  from  fifteen  to  twenty;  and  an  old  gentleman 
in  a  blouse,  with  no  teeth  to  speak  of,  and  a  strong 

69 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

country  accent.  Quite  the  pick  of  Origny,  I  should 
suppose. 

The  Cigarette  had  some  mysteries  to  perform  with  his 
rigging  in  the  coach-house;  so  I  was  left  to  do  the  pa- 
rade single-handed.  I  found  myself  very  much  of  a  hero 
whether  I  would  or  not.  The  girls  were  full  of  little 
shudderings  over  the  dangers  of  our  journey.  And  I 
thought  it  would  be  ungallant  not  to  take  my  cue  from 
the  ladies.  My  mishap  of  yesterday,  told  in  an  off-hand 
way,  produced  a  deep  sensation.  It  was  OtheUo  over 
again,  with  no  less  than  three  Desdemonas  and  a  sprink- 
ling of  sympathetic  senators  in  the  background.  Never 
were  the  canoes  more  flattered,  or  flattered  more  adroitly. 

"It  is  like  a  violin,"  cried  one  of  the  girls  in  an  ec- 
stasy. 

"I  thank  you  for  the  word,  mademoiselle,*'  said  I. 
**  All  the  more  since  there  are  people  who  call  out  to  me 
that  it  is  like  a  coffm." 

"Oh!  but  it  is  really  like  a  violin.  It  is  finished  like 
a  violin,"  she  went  on, 

"And  polished  like  a  violin,"  added  a  senator. 

"One  has  only  to  stretch  the  cords,"  concluded  an- 
other, "and  then  tum-tumty-tum  " ;  he  imitated  the  re- 
sult with  spirit. 

Was  not  this  a  graceful  little  ovation  ?  Where  this 
people  finds  the  secret  of  its  pretty  speeches  I  cannot 
imagine,  unless  the  secret  should  be  no  other  than  a  sin- 
cere desire  to  please.  But  then  no  disgrace  is  attached 
in  France  to  saying  a  thing  neatly ;  whereas  in  England, 
to  talk  like  a  book  is  to  give  in  one's  resignation  to  so- 
ciety. 

The  old  gentleman  in  the  blouse  stole  into  the  coach- 

70 


ORIGNY  SAINTE-BENOITE 

house,  and  somewhat  irrelevantly  informed  the  Cigarette 
that  he  was  the  father  of  the  three  girls  and  four  more; 
quite  an  exploit  for  a  Frenchman. 

**You  are  very  fortunate,"  answered  the  Cigarette 
politely. 

And  the  old  gentleman,  having  apparently  gained  his 
point,  stole  away  again. 

We  all  got  very  friendly  together.  The  girls  proposed 
to  start  with  us  on  the  morrow,  if  you  please.  And, 
jesting  apart,  every  one  was  anxious  to  know  the  hour 
of  our  departure.  Now,  when  you  are  going  to  crawl 
into  your  canoe  from  a  bad  launch,  a  crowd,  however 
friendly,  is  undesirable,  and  so  we  told  them  not  before 
twelve,  and  mentally  determined  to  be  off  by  ten  at 
latest. 

Towards  evening  we  went  abroad  again  to  post  some 
letters.  It  was  cool  and  pleasant;  the  long  village  was 
quite  empty,  except  for  one  or  two  urchins  who  fol- 
lowed us  as  they  might  have  followed  a  menagerie ;  the 
hills  and  the  tree-tops  looked  in  from  all  sides  through 
the  clear  air,  and  the  bells  were  chiming  for  yet  another 
service. 

Suddenly  we  sighted  the  three  girls,  standing,  with  a 
fourth  sister,  in  front  of  a  shop  on  the  wide  selvage  of 
the  roadway.  We  had  been  very  merry  with  them  a 
little  while  ago,  to  be  sure.  But  what  was  the  etiquette 
of  Origny  ?  Had  it  been  a  country  road,  of  course  we 
should  have  spoken  to  them ;  but  here,  under  the  eyes 
of  all  the  gossips,  ought  we  to  do  even  as  much  as  bow  ? 
I  consulted  the  Cigarette. 

"  Look,"  said  he. 

I  looked.  There  were  the  four  girls  on  the  same  spot ; 
7« 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

but  now  four  backs  were  turned  to  us,  very  upright  and 
conscious.  Corporal  Modesty  had  given  the  word  of 
command,  and  the  well-disciplined  picket  had  gone 
right-about-face  like  a  single  person.  They  maintained 
this  formation  all  the  while  we  were  in  sight;  but  we 
heard  them  tittering  among  themselves,  and  the  girl 
whom  we  had  not  met  laughed  with  open  mouth,  and 
even  looked  over  her  shoulder  at  the  enemy.  I  wonder 
was  it  altogether  modesty  after  all,  or  in  part  a  sort  of 
country  provocation  ? 

As  we  were  returning  to  the  inn  we  beheld  some- 
thing floating  in  the  ample  field  of  golden  evening  sky, 
above  the  chalk  cliffs  and  the  trees  that  grow  along 
their  summit.  It  was  too  high  up,  too  large,  and  too 
steady  for  a  kite ;  and,  as  it  was  dark,  it  could  not  be 
a  star.  For,  although  a  star  were  as  black  as  ink  and 
as  rugged  as  a  walnut,  so  amply  does  the  sun  bathe 
heaven  with  radiance  that  it  would  sparkle  like  a  point 
of  light  for  us.  The  village  was  dotted  with  people 
with  their  heads  in  air;  and  the  children  were  in  a  bus- 
tle all  along  the  street  and  far  up  the  straight  road  that 
climbs  the  hill,  where  we  could  still  see  them  running 
in  loose  knots.  It  was  a  balloon,  we  learned,  which 
had  left  Saint  Quentin  at  half  past  five  that  evening. 
Mighty  composedly  the  majority  of  the  grown  people 
took  it.  But  we  were  English,  and  were  soon  running 
up  the  hill  with  the  best.  Being  travellers  ourselves  in 
a  small  way,  we  would  fain  have  seen  these  other  trav- 
ellers alight. 

The  spectacle  was  over  by  the  time  we  gained  the 
top  of  the  hill.  All  the  gold  had  withered  out  of  the 
sky,  and  the  balloon  had  disappeared.     Whither?    I 

72 


ORIGNY  SAINTE-BENOITE 

ask  myself;  caught  up  into  the  seventh  heaven?  or 
come  safely  to  land  somewhere  in  that  blue,  uneven  dis- 
tance, into  which  the  roadway  dipped  and  melted  before 
our  eyes  ?  Probably  the  aeronauts  were  already  warm- 
ing themselves  at  a  farm  chimney,  for  they  say  it  is  cold 
in  these  unhomely  regions  of  the  air.  The  night  fell 
swiftly.  Roadside  trees  and  disappointed  sightseers, 
returning  through  the  meadows,  stood  out  in  black 
against  a  margin  of  low,  red  sunset.  It  was  cheerfuller 
to  face  the  other  way,  and  so  down  the  hill  we  went, 
with  a  full  moon,  the  colour  of  a  melon,  swinging  high 
above  the  wooded  valley,  and  the  white  cliffs  behind 
us  faintly  reddened  by  the  fire  of  the  chalk-kilns. 

The  lamps  were  lighted,  and  the  salads  were  being 
made  in  Origny  Sainte-Benoite  by  the  river. 


ORIGNY  SAINTE-BENOITE 

THE   COMPANY   AT  TABLE 

Although  we  came  late  for  dinner,  the  company  at 
table  treated  us  to  sparkling  wine.  "That  is  how  we 
are  in  France,"  said  one.  *'  Those  who  sit  down  with 
us  are  our  friends."     And  the  rest  applauded. 

They  were  three  altogether,  and  an  odd  trio  to  pass 
the  Sunday  with. 

Two  of  them  were  guests  like  ourselves,  both  men  of 
the  north.  One  ruddy,  and  of  a  full  habit  of  body,  with 
copious  black  hair  and  beard,  the  intrepid  hunter  of 
France,  who  thought  nothing  so  small,  not  even  a  lark 
or  a  minnow,  but  he  might  vindicate  his  prowess  by  its 
capture.  For  such  a  great,  healthy  man,  his  hair  flour- 
ishing like  Samson's,  his  arteries  running  buckets  of  red 
blood,  to  boast  of  these  infinitesimal  exploits,  produced 
a  feeling  of  disproportion  in  the  world,  as  when  a  steam- 
hammer  is  set  to  cracking  nuts.  The  other  was  a  quiet, 
subdued  person,  blond,  and  lymphatic,  and  sad,  with 
something  the  look  of  a  Dane:  **  Tristes  Utes  de  Da- 
noisl"  as  Gaston  Lafenestre  used  to  say. 

I  must  not  let  that  name  go  by  without  a  word  for 
the  best  of  all  good  fellows,  now  gone  down  into  the 
dust.  We  shall  never  again  see  Gaston  in  his  forest 
costume, — he  was  Gaston  with  all  the  world,  in  affec- 

74 


ORIGNY  SAINTE-BENOITE 

tion,  not  in  disrespect, —  nor  hear  him  wake  the  echoes 
of  Fontainebleau  with  the  woodland  horn.  Never  again 
shall  his  kind  smile  put  peace  among  all  races  of  artistic 
men,  and  make  the  Englishman  at  home  in  France. 
Never  more  shall  the  sheep,  who  were  not  more  innocent 
at  heart  than  he,  sit  all  unconsciously  for  his  industrious 
pencil.  He  died  too  early,  at  the  very  moment  when  he 
was  beginning  to  put  forth  fresh  sprouts  and  blossom 
into  something  worthy  of  himself;  and  yet  none  who 
knew  him  will  think  he  lived  in  vain.  I  never  knew  a 
man  so  little,  for  whom  yet  I  had  so  much  affection ; 
and  I  find  it  a  good  test  of  others,  how  much  they  had 
learned  to  understand  and  value  him.  His  was,  indeed, 
a  good  influence  in  life  while  he  was  still  among  us ;  he 
had  a  fresh  laugh;  it  did  you  good  to  see  him;  and, 
however  sad  he  may  have  been  at  heart,  he  always 
bore  a  bold  and  cheerful  countenance  and  took  fortune's 
worst  as  it  were  the  showers  of  spring.  But  now  his 
mother  sits  alone  by  the  side  of  Fontainebleau  woods, 
where  he  gathered  mushrooms  in  his  hardy  and  pe- 
nurious youth. 

Many  of  his  pictures  found  their  way  across  the  Chan- 
nel ;  besides  those  which  were  stolen,  when  a  dastardly 
Yankee  left  him  alone  in  London  with  two  English  pence, 
and,  perhaps,  twice  as  many  words  of  English.  If  any 
one  who  reads  these  lines  should  have  a  scene  of  sheep, 
in  the  manner  oi  Jacques,  with  this  fine  creature's  sig- 
nature, let  him  tell  himself  that  one  of  the  kindest  and 
bravest  of  men  has  lent  a  hand  to  decorate  his  lodging. 
There  may  be  better  pictures  in  the  National  Gallery  ; 
but  not  a  painter  among  the  generations  had  a  better 
heart.     Precious  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord  of  humanity, 

75 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

the  Psalms  tell  us,  is  the  death  of  his  saints.  It  had 
need  to  be  precious;  for  it  is  very  costly,  when,  by  a 
stroke,  a  mother  is  left  desolate,  and  the  peace-maker 
and  peace-looker  of  a  whole  society  is  laid  in  the  ground 
with  CcBsar  and  the  Twelve  Apostles. 

There  is  something  lacking  among  the  oaks  of  Fon- 
tainebleau;  and  when  the  dessert  comes  in  at  Barbi^on, 
people  look  to  the  door  for  a  figure  that  is  gone. 

The  third  of  our  companions  at  Origny  was  no  less  a 
person  than  the  landlady's  husband ;  not  properly  the 
landlord,  since  he  worked  himself  in  a  factory  during 
the  day,  and  came  to  his  own  house  at  evening  as  a 
guest;  a  man  worn  to  skin  and  bone  by  perpetual  ex- 
citement, with  baldish  head,  sharp  features,  and  swift, 
shining  eyes.  On  Saturday,  describing  some  paltry  ad- 
venture at  a  duck  hunt,  he  broke  a  plate  into  a  score  of 
fragments.  Whenever  he  made  a  remark  he  would  look 
all  round  the  table  with  his  chin  raised  and  a  spark  of 
green  light  in  either  eye,  seeking  approval.  His  wife 
appeared  now  and  again  in  the  doorway  of  the  room, 
where  she  was  superintending  dinner,  with  a  ""Henri, 
you  forget  yourself,"  or  a  "'Henri,  you  can  surely  talk 
without  making  such  a  noise."  Indeed,  that  was  what 
the  honest  fellow  could  not  do.  On  the  most  trifling 
matter  his  eyes  kindled,  his  fist  visited  the  table,  and  his 
voice  rolled  abroad  in  changeful  thunder.  I  never  saw 
such  a  petard  of  a  man;  I  think  the  devil  was  in  him. 
He  had  two  favourite  expressions,  **It  is  logical,"  or 
illogical,  as  the  case  might  be ;  and  this  other  thrown 
out  with  a  certain  bravado,  as  a  man  might  unfurl  a 
banner,  at  the  beginning  of  many  a  long  and  sonorous 
story:  "  I  am  a  proletarian,  you  see."     Indeed,  we  saw 

76 


ORIGNY  SAINTE-BENOITE 

it  very  well.  God  forbid  that  ever  I  should  find  him 
handling  a  gun  in  Paris  streets.  That  v^ill  not  be  a  good 
moment  for  the  general  public. 

I  thought  his  two  phrases  very  much  represented  the 
good  and  evil  of  his  class,  and,  to  some  extent,  of  his 
country.  It  is  a  strong  thing  to  say  what  one  is,  and  not 
be  ashamed  of  it ;  even  although  it  be  m  doubtful  taste 
to  repeat  the  statement  too  often  in  one  evening.  I 
should  not  admire  it  in  a  duke,  of  course ;  but  as  times 
go  the  trait  is  honourable  in  a  workman.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  is  not  at  all  a  strong  thing  to  put  one's  reliance 
upon  logic ;  and  our  own  logic  particularly,  for  it  is  gen- 
erally wrong.  We  never  know  where  we  are  to  end 
if  once  we  begin  following  words  or  doctors.  There  is 
an  upright  stock  in  a  man's  own  heart  that  is  trustier 
than  any  syllogism ;  and  the  eyes,  and  the  sympathies, 
and  appetites  know  a  thing  or  two  that  have  never  yet 
been  stated  in  controversy.  Reasons  are  as  plentiful  as 
blackberries ;  and,  like  fisticuffs,  they  serve  impartially 
with  all  sides.  Doctrines  do  not  stand  or  fall  by  their 
proofs  and  are  only  logical  in  so  far  as  they  are  cleverly 
put.  An  able  controversialist  no  more  than  an  able  gen- 
eral demonstrates  the  justice  of  his  cause.  But  France 
is  all  gone  wandering  after  one  or  two  big  words ;  it 
will  take  some  time  before  they  can  be  satisfied  that 
they  are  no  more  than  words,  however  big;  and,  when 
once  that  is  done,  they  will  perhaps  find  logic  less 
diverting. 

The  conversation  opened  with  details  of  the  day's 
shooting.  When  all  the  sportsmen  of  a  village  shoot 
over  the  village  territory  pro  indiviso,  it  is  plain  that 
many  questions  of  etiquette  and  priority  must  arise. 

77 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

"  Here  now,"  cried  the  landlord,  brandishing  a  plate, 
'*here  is  a  field  of  beet-root.  Well.  Here  am  I,  then. 
I  advance,  do  I  not  ?  Eb  bien  !  sacristi  ;  ' '  and  the  state- 
ment, waxing  louder,  rolls  off  into  a  reverberation  of 
oaths,  the  speaker  glaring  about  for  sympathy,  and 
everybody  nodding  his  head  to  him  in  the  name  of 
peace. 

The  ruddy  Northman  told  some  tales  of  his  own 
prowess  in  keeping  order :  notably  one  of  a  Marquis. 

''Marquis,"  I  said,  *'if  you  take  another  step  I  fire 
upon  you.     You  have  committed  a  dirtiness.  Marquis." 

Whereupon,  it  appeared,  the  Marquis  touched  his  cap 
^nd  withdrew. 

The  landlord  applauded  noisily.  "  It  was  well  done," 
he  said.  "He  did  all  that  he  could.  He  admitted  he 
was  wrong."  And  then  oath  upon  oath.  He  was  no 
marquis-lover,  either,  but  he  had  a  sense  of  justice  in 
him,  this  proletarian  host  of  ours. 

From  the  matter  of  hunting,  the  talk  veered  into  a 
general  comparison  of  Paris  and  the  country.  The  pro- 
letarian beat  the  table  like  a  drum  in  praise  of  Paris. 
*'  What  is  Paris  ?  Paris  is  the  cream  of  France.  There 
are  no  Parisians ;  it  is  you,  and  I,  and  everybody  who 
are  Parisians.  A  man  has  eighty  chances  per  cent,  to 
get  on  in  the  world  in  Paris. ' '  And  he  drew  a  vivid 
sketch  of  the  workman  in  a  den  no  bigger  than  a  dog- 
hutch,  making  articles  that  were  to  go  all  over  the 
world.    '*Eh  bien,  quoi,  c'estmagnifique,  ^a!"  cried  he. 

The  sad  Northman  interfered  in  praise  of  a  peasant's 
life ;  he  thought  Paris  bad  for  men  and  women.  "Cen- 
tralization," said  he 

But  the  landlord  was  at  his  throat  in  a  moment.  It 
78 


ORIGNY  SAINTE-BENOITE 

was  all  logical,  he  showed  him,  and  all  magnificent. 
'*  What  a  spectacle!  What  a  glance  for  an  eye!  "  And 
the  dishes  reeled  upon  the  table  under  a  cannonade  of 
blows. 

Seeking  to  make  peace,  I  threw  in  a  word  in  praise 
of  the  liberty  of  opinion  in  France.  I  could  hardly  have 
shot  more  amiss.  There  was  an  instant  silence  and  a 
great  wagging  of  significant  heads.  They  did  not  fancy 
the  subject,  it  was  plain,  but  they  gave  me  to  under- 
stand that  the  sad  Northman  was  a  martyr  on  account 
of  his  views.  ''Ask  him  a  bit,"  said  they.  "Just  ask 
him." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  he  in  his  quiet  way,  answering  me, 
although  I  had  not  spoken,  "1  am  afraid  there  is  less 
liberty  of  opinion  in  France  than  you  may  imagine." 
And  with  that  he  dropped  his  eyes  and  seemed  to  con- 
sider the  subject  at  an  end. 

Our  curiosity  was  mightily  excited  at  this.  How,  or 
why,  or  when  was  this  lymphatic  bagman  martyred  ? 
We  concluded  at  once  it  was  on  some  religious  ques- 
tion, and  brushed  up  our  memories  of  the  Inquisition, 
which  were  principally  drawn  from  Poe's  horrid  story, 
and  the  sermon  in  Tristram  Shandy,  1  believe. 

On  the  morrow  we  had  an  opportunity  of  going  fur- 
ther into  the  question ;  for  when  we  rose  very  early  to 
avoid  a  sympathising  deputation  at  our  departure,  we 
found  the  hero  up  before  us.  He  was  breaking  his  fast 
on  white  wine  and  raw  onions,  in  order  to  keep  up  the 
character  of  martyr,  1  conclude.  We  had  a  long  conver- 
sation, and  made  out  what  we  wanted  in  spite  of  his 
reserve.  But  here  was  a  truly  curious  circumstance.  It 
seems  possible  for  two  Scotchmen  and  a  Frenchman  to 

19 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

discuss  during  a  long  half-hour,  and  each  nationality 
have  a  different  idea  in  view  throughout.  It  was  not 
till  the  very  end  that  we  discovered  his  heresy  had  been 
political,  or  that  he  suspected  our  mistake.  The  terms 
and  spirit  in  which  he  spoke  of  his  political  beliefs  were, 
in  our  eyes,  suited  to  religious  beliefs.     And  vice  versa. 

Nothing  could  be  more  characteristic  of  the  two  coun- 
tries.    Politics  are  the  religion  of  France;  as  Nanty 

Ewart  would  have  said,    "A  d d  bad   religion," 

while  we,  at  home,  keep  most  of  our  bitterness  for  all 
differences  about  a  hymn-book  or  a  Hebrew  word 
which,  perhaps,  neither  of  the  parties  can  translate. 
And  perhaps  the  misconception  is  typical  of  many  others 
that  may  never  be  cleared  up ;  not  only  betv/een  people 
of  different  race,  but  between  those  of  different  sex. 

As  for  our  friend's  martyrdom,  he  was  a  Communist, 
or  perhaps  only  a  Communard,  which  is  a  very  differ- 
ent thing,  and  had  lost  one  or  more  situations  in  conse- 
quence. I  think  he  had  also  been  rejected  in  marriage ; 
but  perhaps  he  had  a  sentimental  way  of  considering 
business  which  deceived  me.  He  was  a  mild,  gentle 
creature,  any  way,  and  I  hope  he  has  got  a  better  situ- 
ation and  married  a  more  suitable  wife  since  then. 


DOWN  THE  OISE 

TO   MOY  * 

Carnival  notoriously  cheated  us  at  first  Finding  us 
easy  in  our  ways,  he  regretted  having  let  us  off  so 
cheaply,  and,  taking  me  aside,  told  me  a  cock-and-bull 
story,  with  the  moral  of  another  five  francs  for  the  nar- 
rator. The  thing  was  palpably  absurd ;  but  I  paid  up, 
and  at  once  dropped  all  friendliness  of  manner  and  kept 
him  in  his  place  as  an  inferior,  with  freezing  British  dig- 
nity. He  saw  in  a  moment  that  he  had  gone  too  far 
and  killed  a  willing  horse;  his  face  fell;  I  am  sure  he 
would  have  refunded  if  he  could  only  have  thought  of 
a  decent  pretext.  He  wished  me  to  drink  with  him, 
but  I  would  none  of  his  drinks.  He  grew  pathetically 
tender  in  his  professions,  but  I  walked  beside  him  in 
silence  or  answered  him  in  stately  courtesies,  and,  when 
we  got  to  the  landing-place,  passed  the  word  in  Eng- 
lish slang  to  the  Cigarette. 

In  spite  of  the  false  scent  we  had  thrown  out  the  day 
before,  there  must  have  been  fifty  people  about  the 
bridge.  We  were  as  pleasant  as  we  could  be  with  all 
but  Carnival,  We  said  good-by,  shaking  hands  with 
the  old  gentleman  who  knew  the  river  and  the  young 
gentleman  who  had  a  smattering  of  English,  but  never 
a  word  for  Carnival.    Poor  Carnival,  here  was  a  humili- 

8i 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

ation.  He  who  had  been  so  much  identified  with  the 
canoes,  who  had  given  orders  in  our  name,  who  had 
shown  off  the  boats  and  even  the  boatmen  like  a  private 
exhibition-  of  his  own,  to  be  now  so  publicly  shamed  by 
the  lions  of  his  caravan!  I  never  saw  anybody  look 
more  crestfallen  than  he.  He  hung  in  the  background, 
coming  timidly  forward  ever  and  again  as  he  thought 
he  saw  some  symptom  of  a  relenting  humour,  and  fall- 
ing hurriedly  back  when  he  encountered  a  cold  stare. 
Let  us  hope  it  will  be  a  lesson  to  him. 

I  would  not  have  mentioned  Carmval's  peccadillo^had 
not  the  thing  been  so  uncommon  in  France.  This,  for 
instance,  was  the  only  case  of  dishonesty  or  even  sharp 
practice  in  our  whole  voyage.  We  talk  very  much 
about  our  honesty  in  England.  It  is  a  good  rule  to  be 
on  your  guard  wherever  you  hear  great  professions 
about  a  very  little  piece  of  virtue.  If  the  English  could 
only  hear  how  they  are  spoken  of  abroad,  they  might 
confine  themselves  for  a  while  to  remedying  the  fact, 
and  perhaps  even  when  that  was  done,  give  us  fewer  of 
their  airs. 

The  young  ladies,  the  graces  of  Origny,  were  not 
present  at  our  start;  but  when  we  got  round  to  the  sec- 
ond bridge,  behold,  it  was  black  with  signt-seers !  We 
were  loudly  cheered,  and  for  a  good  way  below  young 
lads  and  lasses  ran  along  the  bank,  still  cheering.  What 
with  current  and  paddling,  we  were  flashing  along  like 
swallows.  It  was  no  joke  to  keep  up  with  us  upon  the 
woody  shore.  But  the  girls  picked  up  their  skirts,  as 
if  they  were  sure  they  had  good  ankles,  and  followed 
until  their  breath  was  out.  The  last  to  weary  were  the 
three  graces  and  a  couple  of  companions ;  and  just  as 

82 


DOWN  THE  OISE 

they,  too,  had  had  enough,  the  foremost  of  the  three 
leaped  upon  a  tree-stump  and  kissed  her  hand  to  the 
canoeists.  Not  Diana  herself,  although  this  was  more 
of  a  Venus,  after  all,  could  have  done  a  graceful  thing 
more  gracefully.  "  Come  back  again  1 "  she  cried ;  and 
all  the  others  echoed  her;  and  the  hills  about  Origny  re- 
peated the  words,  ''Come  back."  But  the  river  had 
us  round  an  angle  in  a  twinkling,  and  we  were  alone 
with  the  green  trees  and  running  water. 

Come  back  }    There  is  no  coming  back,  young  ladies, 
on  the  impetuous  stream  of  life. 

The  merchant  bows  unto  the  seaman's  star, 
The  ploughman  from  the  sun  his  season  takes. 

And  we  must  all  set  our  pocket  watches  by  the  clock  of 
fate.  There  is  a  headlong,  forthright  tide,  that  bears 
away  man  with  his  fancies  like  straw,  and  runs  fast  in 
time  and  space.  It  is  full  of  curves  like  this,  your  wind- 
ing river  of  the  Oise;  and  lingers  and  returns  in  pleasant 
pastorals ;  and  yet,  rightly  thought  upon,  never  returns 
at  all.  For  though  it  should  revisit  the  same  acre  of 
meadow  in  the  same  hour,  it  will  have  made  an  ample 
sweep  between  whiles;  many  little  streams  will  have 
fallen  in ;  many  exhalations  risen  towards  the  sun ;  and 
even  although  it  were  the  same  acre,  it  will  not  be  the 
same  river  Oise.  And  thus,  O  graces  of  Origny,  al- 
though the  wandering  fortune  of  my  life  should  carry 
me  back  again  to  where  you  await  death's  whistle  by 
the  river,  that  will  not  be  the  old  I  who  walks  the  street; 
and  those  wives  and  mothers,  say,  will  those  be  you  ? 
There  was  never  any  mistake  about  the  Oise,  as  a 
matter  of  fact.     In  these  upper  reaches  it  was  still  in  a 

83 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

prodigious  hurry  for  the  sea.  It  ran  so  fast  and  merrily, 
through  all  the  windings  of  its  channel,  that  I  strained 
my  thumb  fighting  with  the  rapids,  and  had  to  paddle 
all  the  rest  of  the  way  with  one  hand  turned  up.  Some- 
times it  had  to  serve  mills ;  and  being  still  a  little  river, 
ran  very  dry  and  shallow  in  the  mean  while.  We  had 
to  put  our  legs  out  of  the  boat,  and  shove  ourselves  off 
the  sand  of  the  bottom  with  our  feet.  And  still  it  went 
on  its  way  singing  among  the  poplars,  and  making  a 
green  valley  in  the  world.  After  a  good  woman,  and 
a  good  book,  and  tobacco,  there  is  nothing  so  agree- 
able on  earth  as  a  river.  I  forgave  it  its  attempt  on  my 
life ;  which  was,  after  all,  one  part  owing  to  the  unruly 
winds  of  heaven  that  had  blown  down  the  tree,  one  part 
to  my  own  mismanagement,  and  only  a  third  part  to 
the  river  itself,  and  that  not  out  of  malice,  but  from  its 
great  preoccupation  over  its  own  business  of  getting  to 
the  sea.  A  difficult  business,  too;  for  the  detours  it  had 
to  make  are  not  to  be  counted.  The  geographers  seem  to 
have  given  up  the  attempt;  for  I  found  no  map  represent 
the  infinite  contortion  of  its  course.  A  fact  will  say 
more  than  any  of  them.  After  we  had  been  some  hours, 
three,  if  I  mistake  not,  flitting  by  the  trees  at  this  smooth, 
breakneck  gallop,  when  we  came  upon  a  hamlet  and 
asked  where  we  were,  we  had  got  no  further  than  four 
kilometres  (say  two  miles  and  a  half)  from  Origny.  If 
it  were  not  for  the  honour  of  the  thing  (in  the  Scotch 
saying),  we  might  almost  as  well  have  been  standing 
still. 

We  lunched  on  a  meadow  inside  a  parallelogram  of 
poplars.  The  leaves  danced  and  prattled  in  the  wind 
ail  round  about  us.     The  river  hurried  on  meanwhile, 

84 


DOWN  THE  OISE 

and  seemed  to  chide  at  our  delay.  Little  we  cared.  The 
river  knew  where  it  was  going;  not  so  we;  the  less  our 
hurry,  where  we  found  good  quarters,  and  a  pleasant 
theatre  for  a  pipe.  At  that  hour  stock-brokers  were 
shouting  in  Paris  Bourse  for  two  or  three  per  cent ;  but 
we  minded  them  as  little  as  the  sliding  stream,  and  sac- 
rificed a  hecatomb  of  minutes  to  the  gods  of  tobacco  and 
digestion.  Hurry  is  the  resource  of  the  faithless.  Where 
a  man  can  trust  his  own  heart,  and  those  of  his  friends, 
to-morrow  is  as  good  as  to-day.  And  if  he  die  in  the 
mean  while,  why,  then,  there  he  dies,  and  the  question 
is  solved. 

We  had  to  take  to  the  canal  in  the  course  of  the  after- 
noon ;  because  where  it  crossed  the  river  there  was,  not 
a  bridge,  but  a  siphon.  If  it  had  not  been  for  an  excited 
fellow  on  the  bank  we  should  have  paddled  right  into 
the  siphon,  and  thenceforward  not  paddled  any  more. 
We  met  a  man,  a  gentleman,  on  the  towpath,  who  was 
much  interested  in  our  cruise.  And  I  was  witness  to  a 
strange  seizure  of  lying  suffered  by  the  Cigarette;  who, 
because  his  knife  came  from  Norway,  narrated  all  sorts 
of  adventures  in  that  country,  where  he  has  never  been. 
He  was  quite  feverish  at  the  end,  and  pleaded  demoni- 
acal possession. 

Moy  (pronounce  Moy)  was  a  pleasant  little  village, 
gathered  round  a  chateau  in  a  moat.  The  air  was  per- 
fumed with  hemp  from  neighbouring  fields.  At  the 
Golden  Sheep  we  found  excellent  entertainment.  Ger- 
man shells  from  the  siege  of  La  Fere,  Nilrnberg  figures, 
gold-fish  in  a  bowl,  and  all  manner  of  knick-knacks, 
embellished  the  public  room.  The  landlady  was  a  stout, 
plain,  short-sighted,  motherly  body,  with  something  not 

85 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

far  short  of  a  genius  for  cookery.  She  had  a  guess  of 
her  excellence  herself.  After  every  dish  was  sent  in,  she 
would  come  and  look  on  at  the  dinner  for  a  while,  with 
puckered,  blinking  eyes.  '"Cestbon,  n'est-cepas  ?''  she 
would  say;  and,  when  she  had  received  a  proper  an- 
swer, she  disappeared  into  the  kitchen.  That  common 
French  dish,  partridge  and  cabbages,  became  a  new  thing 
in  my  eyes  at  the  Golden  Sheep;  and  many  subsequent 
dinners  have  bitterly  disappointed  me  in  consequence. 
Sweet  was  our  rest  in  the  Golden  Sheep  at  Mqy. 


86 


LA  FERE  OF  CURSED  MEMORY 

We  lingered  in  Moy  a  good  part  of  the  day,  for  we 
were  fond  of  being  philosophical,  and  scorned  long 
journeys  and  early  starts  on  principle.  The  place,  more- 
over, invited  to  repose.  People  in  elaborate  shooting 
costumes  sallied  from  the  chateau  with  guns  and  game- 
bags  ;  and  this  was  a  pleasure  in  itself,  to  remain  behind 
while  these  elegant  pleasure-seekers  took  the  first  of  the 
morning.  In  this  way  all  the  world  may  be  an  aristo- 
crat, and  play  the  duke  among  marquises,  and  the  reign- 
ing monarch  among  dukes,  if  he  will  only  outvie  them 
in  tranquillity.  An  imperturbable  demeanour  comes  from 
perfect  patience.  Quiet  minds  cannot  be  perplexed  or 
frightened,  but  go  on  in  fortune  or  misfortune  at  their 
own  private  pace,  like  a  clock  during  a  thunder-storm. 

We  made  a  very  short  day  of  it  to  La  Fere;  but  the 
dusk  was  falling- and  a  small  rain  had  begun  before  we 
stowed  the  boats.  La  Fere  is  a  fortified  town  in  a  plain, 
and  has  two  belts  of  rampart.  Between  the  first  and 
the  second  extends  a  region  of  waste  land  and  cultivated 
patches.  Here  and  there  along  the  wayside  were  posters 
forbidding  trespass  in  the  name  of  military  engineering. 
At  last  a  second  gateway  admitted  us  to  the  town  itself. 
Lighted  windows  looked  gladsome,  whiffs  of  comfort- 

87 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

able  cookery  came  abroad  upon  the  air.  The  town  was 
full  of  the  military  reserve,  out  for  the  French  Autumn 
manoeuvres,  and  the  reservists  walked  speedily  and  wore 
their  formidable  great-coats.  It  was  a  fine  night  to  be 
within  doors  over  dinner,  and  hear  the  rain  upon  the 
windows. 

The  Cigarette  and  I  could  not  sufficiently  congratulate 
each  other  on  the  prospect,  for  we  had  been  told  there 
was  a  capital  inn  at  La  Fere.  Such  a  dinner  as  we  were 
going  to  eat!  such  beds  as  we  were  to  sleep  in!  and  all 
the  while  the  rain  raining  on  houseless  folk  over  all  the 
poplared  country-side.  It  made  our  mouths  water. 
The  inn  bore  the  name  of  some  woodland  animal,  stag, 
or  hart,  or  hind,  I  forget  which.  But  I  shall  never  forget 
hov/  spacious  and  how  eminently  habitable  it  looked  as 
we  drew  near.  The  carriage  entry  was  lighted  up,  not 
by  intention,  but  from  the  mere  superfluity  of  fire  and 
candle  in  the  house.  A  rattle  of  many  dishes  came  to 
our  ears;  we  sighted  a  great  field  of  tablecloth ;  the 
kitchen  glowed  like  a  forge  and  smelt  like  a  garden  of 
things  to  eat. 

Into  this,  the  inmost  shrine  and  physiological  heart  of 
a  hostelry,  with  all  its  furnaces  in  action  and  all  its 
dressers  charged  with  viands,  you  are  now  to  suppose 
us  making  our  triumphal  entry,  a  pair  of  damp  rag-and- 
bone  men,  each  with  a  limp  india-rubber  bag  upon  his 
arm.  I  do  not  believe  I  have  a  sound  view  of  that 
kitchen ;  I  saw  it  through  a  sort  of  glory,  but  it  seemed 
to  me  crowded  with  the  snowy  caps  of  cookmen,  who  all 
turned  round  from  their  saucepans  and  looked  at  us  with 
surprise.  There  was  no  doubt  about  the  landlady,  how- 
ever; there  she  was,  heading  her  army,  a  flushed,  angry 

88 


LA   FERE  OF  CURSED   MEMORY 

woman,  full  of  affairs.  Her  I  asked  politely  —  too  po- 
litely, thinks  the  Cigarette  —  if  we  could  have  beds,  she 
surveying  us  coldly  from  head  to  foot. 

"You  will  find  beds  in  the  suburb,"  she  remarked. 
**  We  are  too  busy  for  the  like  of  you." 

If  we  could  make  an  entrance,  change  our  clothes, 
and  order  a  bottle  of  wine,  I  felt  sure  we  could  put 
things  right;  so  said  I,  "If  we  cannot  sleep,  we  may  at 
least  dine,"  — and  was  for  depositing  my  bag. 

What  a  terrible  convulsion  of  nature  was  that  which 
followed  in  the  landlady's  face !  She  made  a  run  at  us 
and  stamped  her  foot. 

"Out  with  you, —  out  of  the  door!"  she  screeched. 
*'  Sorte^!  sorte:^^ !  sorte^  par  la  porte !  ' ' 

I  do  not  know  how  it  happened,  but  next  moment 
we  were  out  in  the  rain  and  darkness,  and  I  was  curs- 
ing before  the  carriage  entry  like  a  disappointed  mendi- 
cant. Where  were  the  boating  men  of  Belgium  ?  where 
the  judge  and  his  good  wines  ?  and  where  the  graces 
of  Origny  ?  Black,  black  was  the  night  after  the  firelit 
kitchen,  but  what  was  that  to  the  blackness  in  our 
heart  ?  This  was  not  the  first  time  that  I  have  been  re- 
fused a  lodging.  Often  and  often  have  I  planned  what  I 
should  do  if  such  a  misadventure  happened  to  me  again. 
And  nothing  is  easier  to  plan.  But  to  put  in  execution, 
with  the  heart  boiling  at  the  indignity  ?  Try  it;  try  it 
only  once,  and  tell  me  what  you  did. 

It  is  all  very  fine  to  talk  about  tramps  and  morality. 
Six  hours  of  police  surveillance  (such  as  I  have  had)  or 
one  brutal  rejection  from  an  inn  door  change  your  views 
upon  the  subject  like  a  course  of  lectures.  As  long  as 
you  keep  in  the  upper  regions,  with  all  the  world  bow- 

89 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

ing  to  you  as  you  go,  social  arrangements  have  a  very 
handsome  air;  but  once  get  under  the  wheels  and  you 
wish  society  were  at  the  devil.  I  will  give  most  re- 
spectable men  a  fortnight  of  such  a  life,  and  then  I  will 
offer  them  twopence  for  what  remains  of  their  morality. 

For  my  part,  when  I  was  turned  out  of  the  Stag,  or 
the  Hind,  or  whatever  it  was,  I  would  have  set  the 
temple  of  Diana  on  fire  if  it  had  been  handy.  There 
was  no  crime  complete  enough  to  express  my  disap- 
proval of  human  institutions.  As  for  the  Cigarette,  I 
never  knew  a  man  so  altered.  "We  have  been  taken 
for  pedlars  again,"  said  he.  ''  Good  God,  what  it  must 
be  to  be  a  pedlar  in  reality !  "  He  particularised  a  com- 
plaint for  every  joint  in  the  landlady's  body.  Timon 
was  a  philanthropist  alongside  of  him.  And  then,  when 
he  was  at  the  top  of  his  maledictory  bent,  he  would  sud- 
denly break  away  and  begin  whimperingly  to  commis- 
erate the  poor.  "  I  hope  to  God,''  he  said, — and  I  trust 
the  prayer  was  answered, —  ''that  I  shall  never  be  un- 
civil to  a  pedlar."  Was  this  the  imperturbable  Ciga- 
rette ?  This,  this  was  he.  Oh,  change  beyond  report, 
thought,  or  belief ! 

Meantime  the  heaven  wept  upon  our  heads ;  and  the 
windows  grew  brighter  as  the  night  increased  in  dark- 
ness. We  trudged  in  and  out  of  La  Fere  streets ;  we 
saw  shops,  and  private  houses  where  people  were  copi- 
ously dining;  we  saw  stables  where  carters'  nags  had 
plenty  of  fodder  and  clean  straw;  we  saw  no  end  of 
reservists,  who  were  very  sorry  for  themselves  this  wet 
night,  I  doubt  not,  and  yearned  for  their  country  homes ; 
but  had  they  not  each  man  his  place  in  La  Fere  barracks  ? 
And  we,  what  had  we  ? 

90 


LA   FERE  OF  CURSED  MEMORY 

There  seemed  to  be  no  other  inn  in  the  whole  town. 
People  gave  us  directions,  which  we  followed  as  best 
we  could,  generally  with  the  effect  of  bringing  us  out 
again  upon  the  scene  of  our  disgrace.  We  were  very- 
sad  people  indeed,  by  the  time  we  had  gone  all  over 
La  Fere;  and  the  Cigarette  had  already  made  up  his 
mind  to  lie  under  a  poplar  and  sup  off  a  loaf  of  bread. 
But  right  at  the  other  end,  the  house  next  the  town- 
gate  was  full  of  light  and  bustle.  '*  Ba^in,  aubergiste, 
loge  d  pied"  was  the  sign.  ''A  la  Croix  de  Malte.'' 
There  were  we  received. 

The  room  was  full  of  noisy  reservists  drinking  and 
smoking ;  and  we  were  very  glad  indeed  when  the  drums 
and  bugles  began  to  go  about  the  streets,  and  one  and 
all  had  to  snatch  shakoes  and  be  off  for  the  barracks. 

Ba:{in  was  a  tall  man,  running  to  fat;  soft-spoken, 
with  a  delicate,  gentle  face.  We  asked  him  to  share 
our  wine;  but  he  excused  himself,  having  pledged  re- 
servists all  day  long.  This  was  a  very  different  type  of 
the  workman-innkeeper  from  the  bawling,  disputatious 
fellow  at  Origny.  He  also  loved  Paris,  where  he  had 
worked  as  a  decorative  painter  in  his  youth.  There 
were  such  opportunities  for  self-instruction  there,  he 
said.  And  if  any  one  has  read  Zola's  description  of  the 
workman's  marriage  party  visiting  the  Louvre  they 
would  do  well  to  have  heard  Ba:!(in  by  way  of  antidote. 
He  had  delighted  in  the  museums  in  his  youth.  "One 
sees  there  little  miracles  of  work,"  he  said;  "that  is 
what  makes  a  good  workman;  it  kindles  a  spark." 
We  asked  him  how  he  managed  in  La  F^re.  "I  am 
married,"  he  said,  "and  I  have  my  pretty  children. 
But  frankly,  it  is  no  life  at  all.     From  morning  to  night 

9' 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

I  pledge  a  pack  of  good-enough  fellows  who  know 
nothing." 

It  faired  as  the  night  went  on,  and  the  moon  came 
out  of  the  clouds.  We  sat  in  front  of  the  door,  talking 
softly  with  Baiin.  At  the  guard-house  opposite  the 
guard  was  being  forever  turned  out,  as  trains  of  field 
artillery  kept  clanking  in  out  of  the  night  or  patrols  of 
horsemen  trotted  by  in  their  cloaks.  Madame  Baiin 
came  out  after  a  while;  she  was  tired  with  her  day's 
work,  1  suppose;  and  she  nestled  up  to  her  husband 
and  laid  her  head  upon  his  breast.  He  had  his  arm 
about  her  and  kept  gently  patting  her  on  the  shoulder. 
I  think  Baiin  was  right,  and  he  was  really  married.  Of 
how  few  people  can  the  same  be  said ! 

Little  did  the  Baims  know  how  much  they  served 
us.  We  were  charged  for  candles,  for  food  and  drink, 
and  for  the  beds  we  slept  in.  But  there  was  nothing 
in  the  bill  for  the  husband's  pleasant  talk;  nor  for  the 
pretty  spectacle  of  their  married  life.  And  there  was 
yet  another  item  uncharged.  For  these  people's  polite- 
ness really  set  us  up  again  in  our  own  esteem.  We 
had  a  thirst  for  consideration ;  the  sense  of  insult  was 
still  hot  in  our  spirits ;  and  civil  usage  seemed  to  restore 
us  to  our  position  in  the  world. 

How  little  we  pay  our  way  in  life!  Although  we 
have  our  purses  continually  in  our  hand,  the  better  part 
of  service  goes  still  unrewarded.  But  I  like  to  fancy 
that  a  grateful  spirit  gives  as  good  as  it  gets.  Perhaps 
the  Basins  knew  how  much  I  liked  them  ?  perhaps  they, 
also,  were  healed  of  some  slights  by  the  thanks  that  I 
gave  them  in  my  manner  ? 


92 


DOWN  THE  OISE 

THROUGH   THE  GOLDEN   VALLEY 

Below  La  Fere  the  river  runs  through  a  piece  of  open 
pastoral  country;  green,  opulent,  loved  by  breeders; 
called  the  Golden  Valley.  In  wide  sweeps,  and  with  a 
swift  and  equable  gallop,  the  ceaseless  stream  of  water 
visits  and  makes  green  the  fields.  Kine,  and  horses, 
and  little  humorous  donkeys  browse  together  in  the 
meadows,  and  come  down  in  troops  to  the  river-side  to 
drink.  They  make  a  strange  feature  in  the  landscape ; 
above  all  when  startled,  and  you  see  them  galloping  to 
and  fro,  with  their  incongruous  forms  and  faces.  It 
gives  a  feeling  as  of  great,  unfenced  pampas,  and  the 
herds  of  wandering  nations.  There  were  hills  in  the 
distance  upon  either  hand;  and  on  one  side,  the  river 
sometimes  bordered  on  the  wooded  spurs  of  Coucy  and 
St.  Gobain. 

The  artillery  were  practising  at  La  Fere  ;  and  soon  the 
cannon  of  heaven  joined  in  that  loud  play.  Two  con- 
tinents of  cloud  met  and  exchanged  salvos  overhead ; 
while  all  round  the  horizon  we  could  see  sunshine  and 
clear  air  upon  the  hills.  What  with  the  guns  and  the 
thunder,  the  herds  were  all  frightened  in  the  Golden 
Valley.  We  could  see  them  tossing  their  heads,  and 
running  to  and  fro  in  timorous  indecision ;  and  when 

93 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

they  had  made  up  their  minds,  and  the  donkey  followed 
the  horse,  and  the  cow  was  after  the  donkey,  we  could 
hear  their  hoofs  thundering  abroad  over  the  meadows. 
It  had  a  martial  sound,  like  cavalry  charges.  And  alto- 
gether, as  far  as  the  ears  are  concerned,  we  had  a  very 
rousing  battle  piece  performed  for  our  amusement. 

At  last,  the  guns  and  the  thunder  dropped  off;  the  sun 
shone  on  the  wet  meadows ;  the  air  was  scented  with 
the  breath  of  rejoicing  trees  and  grass ;  and  the  river  kept 
unweariedly  carrying  us  on  at  its  best  pace.  There  was 
a  manufacturing  district  about  Chauny ;  and  after  that 
the  banks  grew  so  high  that  they  hid  the  adjacent  coun- 
try, and  we  could  see  nothing  but  clay  sides,  and  one 
willow  after  another.  Only  here  and  there  we  passed 
by  a  village  or  a  ferry,  and  some  wondering  child  upon 
the  bank  would  stare  after  us  until  we  turned  the  cor- 
ner. I  daresay  we  continued  to  paddle  in  that  child'** 
dreams  for  many  a  night  after. 

Sun  and  shower  alternated  like  day  and  night,  mak 
ing  the  hours  longer  by  their  variety.  When  the  show- 
ers were  heavy  I  could  feel  each  drop  striking  througl^ 
my  jersey  to  my  warm  skin ;  and  the  accumulation  of 
small  shocks  put  me  nearly  beside  myself.  I  decided  I 
should  buy  a  mackintosh  at  Noyon.  It  is  nothing  to  get 
wet;  but  the  misery  of  these  individual  pricks  of  cold 
all  over  my  body  at  the  same  instant  of  time  made  me 
flail  the  water  with  my  paddle  like  a  madman.  The 
Cigarette  was  greatly  amused  by  these  ebullitions.  It 
gave  him  something  else  to  look  at  besides  clay  banks 
and  willows. 

All  the  time  the  river  stole  away  like  a  thief  in  straight 
places,  or  swung  round  corners  with  an  eddy;  the  wil- 

94 


DOWN   THE  OISE 

lows  nodded  and  were  undermined  all  day  long;  the 
clay  banks  tumbled  in;  the  Oise,  which  had  been  so 
many  centuries  making  the  Golden  Valley,  seemed  to 
have  changed  its  fancy  and  be  bent  upon  undoing  its 
performance.  What  a  number  of  things  a  river  does  by 
simply  following  Gravity  in  the  innocence  of  its  heart! 


NOYON  CATHEDRAL 

Noyon  stands  about  a  mile  from  the  river,  in  a  little 
plain  surrounded  by  wooded  hills,  and  entirely  covers  an 
eminence  with  its  tile  roofs,  surmounted  by  a  long, 
straight-backed  cathedral  with  two  stiff  towers.  As  we 
got  into  the  town,  the  tile  roofs  seemed  to  tumble  up- 
hill one  upon  another,  in  the  oddest  disorder;  but  for  all 
their  scrambling  they  did  not  attain  above  the  knees  of 
the  cathedral,  which  stood,  upright  and  solemn,  over  all. 
As  the  streets  drew  near  to  this  presiding  genius,  through 
the  market-place  under  the  Hotel  de  ViUe,  they  grew 
emptier  and  more  composed.  Blank  walls  and  shut- 
tered windows  were  turned  to  the  great  edifice,  and 
grass  grew  on  the  white  causeway.  "  Put  off  thy  shoes 
from  off  thy  feet,  for  the  place  whereon  thou  standest  is 
holy  ground."  The  Hotel  du  Nord,  nevertheless,  lights 
its  secular  tapers  within  a  stone-cast  of  the  church ;  and 
we  had  the  superb  east  end  before  our  eyes  all  morning 
from  the  window  of  our  bedroom.  I  have  seldom  looked 
on  the  east  end  of  a  church  with  more  complete  sym- 
pathy. As  it  flanges  out  in  three  wide  terraces,  and 
settles  down  broadly  on  the  earth,  it  looks  like  the  poop 
of  some  great  old  battle-ship.  Hollow-backed  buttresses 
•carry  vases,  which  figure  for  the  stern  lanterns.     There 

96 


NOYON   CATHEDRAL 

is  a  roll  in  the  ground,  and  the  towers  just  appear  above 
the  pitch  of  the  roof,  as  though  the  good  ship  were  bow- 
ing lazily  over  an  Atlantic  swell.  At  any  moment  it 
might  be  a  hundred  feet  away  from  you,  climbing  the 
next  billow.  At  any  moment  a  window  might  open, 
and  some  old  admiral  thrust  forth  a  cocked  hat  and  pro- 
ceed to  take  an  observation.  The  old  admirals  sail 
the  sea  no  longer;  the  old  ships  of  battle  are  all  broken 
up,  and  live  only  in  pictures ;  but  this,  that  was  a  church 
before  ever  they  were  thought  upon,  is  still  a  church, 
and  makes  as  brave  an  appearance  by  the  Oise.  The 
cathedral  and  the  river  are  probably  the  two  oldest  things 
for  miles  around ;  and  certainly  they  have  both  a  grand 
old  age. 

The  Sacristan  took  us  to  the  top  of  one  of  the  towers, 
and  showed  us  the  five  bells  hanging  in  their  loft.  From 
above  the  town  was  a  tessellated  pavement  of  roofs  and 
gardens;  the  old  line  of  rampart  was  plainly  traceable; 
and  the  Sacristan  pointed  out  to  us,  far  across  the  plain, 
in  a  bit  of  gleaming  sky  between  two  clouds,  the  tow- 
ers of  Chateau  Coucy. 

I  find  I  never  weary  of  great  churches.  It  is  my  fa- 
vourite kind  of  mountain  scenery.  Mankind  was  never 
so  happily  inspired  as  when  it  made  a  cathedral:  a  thing 
as  single  and  specious  as  a  statue  to  the  first  glance,  and 
yet,  on  examination,  as  lively  and  interesting  as  a  forest 
in  detail.  The  height  of  spires  cannot  be  taken  by  trigo- 
nometry ;  they  measure  absurdly  short,  but  how  tall  they 
are  to  the  admiring  eye!  And  where  we  have  so  many 
elegant  proportions,  growing  one  out  of  the  other,  and 
all  together  into  one,  it  seems  as  if  proportion  tran- 
scended itself  and  became  something  different  and  more 

97 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

imposing.  I  could  never  fathom  how  a  man  dares  to 
lift  up  his  voice  to  preach  in  a  cathedral.  What  is  he  to 
say  that  will  not  be  an  anti-climax  ?  For  though  I  have 
heard  a  considerable  variety  of  sermons,  I  never  yet 
heard  one  that  was  so  expressive  as  a  cathedral.  'T  is 
the  best  preacher  itself,  and  preaches  day  and  night;  not 
only  telling  you  of  man's  art  and  aspirations  in  the  past, 
but  convicting  your  own  soul  of  ardent  sympathies ;  or 
rather,  like  all  good  preachers,  it  sets  you  preaching  to 
yourself,— and  every  man  is  his  own  doctor  of  divinity 
in  the  last  resort. 

As  I  sat  outside  of  the  hotel  in  the  course  of  the  after- 
noon, the  sweet,  groaning  thunder  of  the  organ  floated 
out  of  the  church  like  a  summons.  I  was  not  averse, 
liking  the  theatre  so  well,  to  sit  out  an  act  or  two  of  the 
play,  but  I  could  never  rightly  make  out  the  nature  of 
the  service  I  beheld.  Four  or  five  priests  and  as  many 
choristers  were  singing  Miserere  before  the  high  altar 
when  1  went  in.  There  was  no  congregation  but  a  few 
old  women  on  chairs  and  old  men  kneeling  on  the  pave- 
ment. After  a  while  a  long  train  of  young  girls,  walk- 
ing two  and  two,  each  with  a  lighted  taper  in  her  hand, 
and  all  dressed  in  black  with  a  white  veil,  came  from 
behind  the  altar  and  began  to  descend  the  nave;  the 
four  first  carrying  a  Virgin  and  Child  upon  a  table.  The 
priests  and  choristers  arose  from  their  knees  and  followed 
after,  singing  **  Ave  Mary"  as  they  went.  In  this  or- 
der they  made  the  circuit  of  the  cathedral,  passing  twice 
before  me  where  I  leaned  against  a  pillar.  The  priest 
who  seemed  of  most  consequence  was  a  strange,  down- 
looking  old  man.  He  kept  mumbling  prayers  with  his 
lips;  but,  as  he  looked  upon  me  darkling,  it  did  not 

9^ 


NOYON   CATHEDRAL 

seem  as  if  prayer  were  uppermost  in  his  heart.  Two 
others,  who  bore  the  burden  of  the  chant,  were  stout, 
brutal,  military-looking  men  of  forty,  with  bold,  over- 
fed eyes;  they  sang  with  some  lustiness,  and  trolled 
forth  *'  Ave  Mary  "  like  a  garrison  catch.  The  little  girls 
were  timid  and  grave.  As  they  footed  slowly  up  the 
aisle,  each  one  took  a  moment's  glance  at  the  English- 
man; and  the  big  nun  who  played  marshal  fairly  stared 
him  out  of  countenance.  As  for  the  choristers,  from  first 
to  last  they  misbehaved  as  only  boys  can  misbehave, 
and  cruelly  marred  the  performance  with  their  antics. 

I  understood  a  great  deal  of  the  spirit  of  what  went 
on.  Indeed,  it  would  be  difficult  not  to  understand  the 
Miserere,  which  I  take  to  be  the  composition  of  an  athe- 
ist. If  it  ever  be  a  good  thing  to  take  such  despondency 
to  heart,  the  Miserere  is  the  right  music  and  a  cathedral 
a  fit  scene.  So  far  I  am  at  one  with  the  Catholics, — 
an  odd  name  for  them,  after  all!  But  why,  in  God's 
name,  these  holiday  choristers  ?  why  these  priests  who 
steal  wandering  looks  about  the  congregation  while  they 
feign  to  be  at  prayer }  why  this  fat  nun,  who  rudely 
arranges  her  procession  and  shakes  delinquent  virgins 
by  the  elbow  ?  why  this  spitting,  and  snuffing,  and 
forgetting  of  keys,  and  the  thousand  and  one  little  mis- 
adventures that  disturb  a  frame  of  mind,  laboriously 
edified  with  chants  and  organings  }  In  any  play-house 
reverend  fathers  may  see  what  can  be  done  with  a  little 
art,  and  how,  to  move  high  sentiments,  it  is  necessary 
to  drill  the  supernumeraries  and  have  every  stool  in  its 
proper  place. 

One  other  circumstance  distressed  me.  I  could  bear 
a  Miserere  myself,  having  had  a  good  deal  of  open-air 

99 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

exercise  of  late;  but  I  wished  the  old  people  somewhere 
else.  It  was  neither  the  right  sort  of  music  nor  the  right 
sort  of  divinity  for  men  and  women  who  have  come 
through  most  accidents  by  this  time,  and  probably  have 
an  opinion  of  their  own  upon  the  tragic  element  in  life. 
A  person  up  in  years  can  generally  do  his  own  Miserere 
for  himself ;  although  I  notice  that  such  an  one  often 
prefers  Jubilate  Deo  for  his  ordinary  singing.  On  the 
whole,  the  most  religious  exercise  for  the  aged  is  prob- 
ably to  recall  their  own  experience;  so  many  friends 
dead,  so  many  hopes  disappointed,  so  many  slips  and 
stumbles,  and  withal  so  many  bright  days  and  smiling 
providences ;  there  is  surely  the  matter  of  a  very  elo- 
quent sermon  in  all  this. 

On  the  whole  I  was  greatly  solemnised.  In  the  little  pic- 
torial map  of  our  whole  Inland  Voyage,  which  my  fancy 
still  preserves,  and  sometimes  unrolls  for  the  amusement 
of  odd  moments,  Noyon  cathedral  figures  on  a  most 
preposterous  scale,  and  must  be  nearly  as  large  as  the 
department.  I  can  still  see  the  faces  of  the  priests  as  if 
they  were  at  my  elbow,  and  hear  Ave  Maria,  ora  pro 
nobis  sounding  through  the  church.  All  Noyon  is  blotted 
out  for  me  by  these  superior  memories;  and  I  do  not 
care  to  say  more  about  the  place.  It  was  but  a  stack  of 
brown  roofs  at  the  best,  where  I  believe  people  live  very 
reputably  in  a  quiet  way;  but  the  shadow  of  the  church 
falls  upon  it  when  the  sun  is  low,  and  the  five  bells  are 
heard  in  all  quarters,  telling  that  the  organ  has  begun. 
If  ever  I  join  the  church  of  Rome  I  shall  stipulate  to  be 
Bishop  of  Noyon  on  the  Oise. 


lOO 


DOWN  THE  OISE 

TO  COMPIEGNE 

The  most  patient  people  grow  weary  at  last  with  being 
continually  wetted  with  rain ;  except,  of  course,  in  the 
Scotch  Highlands,  where  there  are  not  enough  fine  in- 
tervals to  point  the  difference.  That  was  like  to  be  our 
case  the  day  we  left  Noyon.  I  remember  nothing  of 
the  voyage;  it  was  nothing  but  clay  banks,  and  wil- 
lows, and  rain ;  incessant,  pitiless,  beating  rain ;  until  we 
stopped  to  lunch  at  a  little  inn  at  Pimpre:^,  where  the 
canal  ran  very  near  the  river.  We  were  so  sadly 
drenched  that  the  landlady  lit  a  few  sticks  in  the  chim- 
ney for  our  comfort ;  there  we  sat  in  a  steam  of  vapour 
lamenting  our  concerns.  The  husband  donned  a  game- 
bag  and  strode  out  to  shoot ;  the  wife  sat  in  a  far  corner 
watching  us.  I  think  we  were  worth  looking  at.  We 
grumbled  over  the  misfortune  of  La  Fere  ;  we  forecast 
other  La  Feres  in  the  future, —  although  things  went 
better  with  the  Cigarette  for  spokesman ;  he  had  more 
aplomb  altogether  than  I ;  and  a  dull,  positive  way  of 
approaching  a  landlady  that  carried  off  the  india-rubber 
bags.  Talking  of  La  Fere  put  us  talking  of  the  reservists. 

** Reservery,"  said  he,  "seems  a  pretty  mean  way  to 
spend  one's  autumn  holiday." 

"About  as  mean,"  returned  I,  dejectedly,  "as  ca- 
noeing." 

lOI 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

''These  gentlemen  travel  for  their  pleasure?"  asked 
the  landlady,  with  unconscious  irony. 

It  was  too  much.  The  scales  fell  from  our  eyes.  An- 
other wet  day,  it  was  determined,  and  we  put  the  boats 
into  the  train. 

The  weather  took  the  hint.  That  was  our  last  wetting. 
The  afternoon  faired  up;  grand  clouds  still  voyaged  in 
the  sky,  but  now  singly,  and  with  a  depth  of  blue 
around  their  path ;  and  a  sunset,  in  the  daintiest  rose 
and  gold,  inaugurated  a  thick  night  of  stars  and  a  month 
of  unbroken  weather.  At  the  same  time,  the  river  began 
to  give  us  a  better  outlook  into  the  country.  The  banks 
were  not  so  high,  the  willows  disappeared  from  along 
the  margin,  and  pleasant  hills  stood  all  along  its  course 
and  marked  their  profile  on  the  sky. 

In  a  little  while  the  canal,  coming  to  its  last  lock, 
began  to  discharge  its  water  houses  on  the  Oise;  so 
that  we  had  no  lack  of  company  to  fear.  Here  were  all 
our  own  friends ;  the  Deo  Gratias  of  Condd  and  the  Four 
Sons  of  Aymon  journeyed  cheerily  down  the  stream 
along  with  us;  we  exchanged  waterside  pleasantries 
with  the  steersman  perched  among  the  lumber,  or  the 
driver  hoarse  with  bawling  to  his  horses;  and  the 
children  came  and  looked  over  the  side  as  we  paddled 
by.  We  had  never  known  all  this  while  how  much  we 
missed  them ;  but  it  gave  us  a  fillip  to  see  the  smoke  from 
their  chimneys. 

A  little  below  this  junction  we  made  another  meeting 
of  yet  more  account.  For  there  we  were  joined  by 
the  Aisne,  already  a  far-travelled  river  and  fresh  out  of 
Champagne.  Here  ended  the  adolescence  of  the  Oise;  this 
was  his  marriage  day ;  thenceforward  he  had  a  stately, 

102 


DOWN   THE  OISE 

brimming  march,  conscious  of  his  own  dignity  and 
sundry  dams.  He  became  a  tranquil  feature  in  the  scene. 
The  trees  and  towns  saw  themselves  in  him,  as  in  a 
mirror.  He  carried  the  canoes  lightly  on  his  broad 
breast;  there  was  no  need  to  work  hard  against  an  eddy, 
but  idleness  became  the  order  of  the  day,  and  mere 
straightforward  dipping  of  the  paddle,  now  on  this  side, 
now  on  that,  without  intelligence  or  effort.  Truly  we 
were  coming  into  halcyon  weather  upon  all  accounts, 
and  were  floated  towards  the  sea  like  gentlemen. 

We  made  Compiegne  as  the  sun  was  going  down :  a 
fine  profile  of  a  town  above  the  river.  Over  the  bridge 
a  regiment  was  parading  to  the  drum.  People  loitered 
on  the  quay,  some  fishing,  some  looking  idly  at  the 
stream.  And  as  the  two  boats  shot  in  along  the  water, 
we  could  see  them  pointing  them  out  and  speaking  one 
to  another.  We  landed  at  a  floating  lavatory,  where  the 
washerwomen  were  still  beating  the  clothes. 


103 


AT   COMPI^GNE 

We  put  up  at  a  big,  bustling  hotel  in  Compiegne,  where 
nobody  observed  our  presence. 

Reservery  and  general  militarismus  (as  the  Germans 
call  it)  was  rampant.  A  camp  of  conical  white  tents 
without  the  town  looked  like  a  leaf  out  of  a  picture  Bible ; 
sword-belts  decorated  the  walls  of  the  cafes,  and  the 
streets  kept  sounding  all  day  long  with  military  music. 
It  was  not  possible  to  be  an  Englishman  and  avoid  a 
feeling  of  elation ;  for  the  men  who  followed  the  drums 
were  small  and  walked  shabbily.  Each  man  inclined  at 
his  own  angle,  and  jolted  to  his  own  convenience  as  he 
went.  There  was  nothing  of  the  superb  gait  with  which 
a  regiment  of  tall  Highlanders  moves  behind  its  music, 
solemn  and  inevitable,  like  a  natural  phenomenon. 
Who,  that  has  seen  it,  can  forget  the  drum-major  pacing 
in  front,  the  drummers'  tiger-skins,  the  pipers'  swing- 
ing plaids,  the  strange,  elastic  rhythm  of  the  whole 
regiment  footing  it  in  time,  and  the  bang  of  the  drum 
when  the  brasses  cease,  and  the  shrill  pipes  taking  up 
the  martial  story  in  their  place  ? 

A  girl  at  school  in  France  began  to  describe  one  of 
our  regiments  on  parade  to  her  French  schoolmates, 
and  as  she  went  on,  she  told  me  the  recollection  grew 

104 


AT  COMPIEGNE 

SO  vivid,  she  became  so  proud  to  be  the  country-woman 
of  such  soldiers,  and  so  sorry  to  be  in  another  country, 
that  her  voice  failed  her  and  she  burst  into  tears.  I 
have  never  forgotten  that  girl,  and  I  think  she  very 
nearly  deserves  a  statue.  To  call  her  a  young  lady, 
with  all  its  niminy  associations,  would  be  to  offer  her  an 
insult.  She  may  rest  assured  of  one  thing,  although  she 
never  should  marry  a  heroic  general,  never  see  any  great 
or  immediate  result  of  her  life,  she  will  not  have  lived 
in  vain  for  her  native  land. 

But  though  French  soldiers  show  to  ill-advantage  on 
parade,  on  the  march  they  are  gay,  alert,  and  willing, 
like  a  troop  of  fox-hunters.  I  remember  once  seeing  a 
company  pass  through  the  forest  of  Fontainebleau,  on 
the  Chailly  road,  between  the  Bas  Breaii  and  the  Reine 
Blanche.  One  fellow  walked  a  little  before  the  rest,  and 
sang  a  loud,  audacious  marching  song.  The  rest  be- 
stirred their  feet,  and  even  swung  their  muskets  in  time. 
A  young  officer  on  horseback  had  hard  ado  to  keep  his 
countenance  at  the  words.  You  never  saw  anything  so 
cheerful  and  spontaneous  as  their  gait;  school-boys  do 
not  look  more  eagerly  at  hare  and  hounds;  and  you 
would  have  thought  it  impossible  to  tire  such  willing 
marchers. 

My  great  delight  in  Compiegne  was  the  town  hall.  I 
doted  upon  the  town  hall.  It  is  a  monument  of  Gothic 
insecurity,  all  turreted,  and  gargoyled,  and  slashed,  and 
bedizened  with  half  a  score  of  architectural  fancies. 
Some  of  the  niches  are  gilt  and  painted;  and  in  a  great 
square  panel  in  the  centre,  in  black  relief  on  a  gilt  ground, 
Louis  XII.  rides  upon  a  pacing  horse,  with  hand  on  hip, 
and  head  thrown  back.     There  is  royal  arrogance  in 

105 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

every  line  of  him ;  the  stirrupped  foot  projects  insolently 
from  the  frame;  the  eye  is  hard  and  proud;  the  very 
horse  seems  to  be  treading  with  gratification  over  pros- 
trate serfs,  and  to  have  the  breath  of  the  trumpet  in  his 
nostrils.  So  rides  forever,  on  the  front  of  the  town  hall, 
the  good  king  Louis  XII.,  the  father  of  his  people. 

Over  the  king's  head,  in  the  tall  centre  turret,  appears 
the  dial  of  a  clock ;  and  high  above  that,  three  little  me- 
chanical figures,  each  one  with  a  hammer  in  his  hand, 
whose  business  it  is  to  chime  out  the  hours,  and  halves, 
and  quarters  for  the  burgesses  of  Compiegne.  The  cen- 
tre figure  has  a  gilt  breastplate ;  the  two  others  wear  gilt 
trunk-hose;  and  they  all  three  have  elegant,  flapping 
hats  like  cavaliers.  As  the  quarter  approaches  they  turn 
their  heads  and  look  knowingly  one  to  the  other;  and 
then,  kling  go  the  three  hammers  on  three  little  bells 
below.  The  hour  follows,  deep  and  sonorous,  from 
the  interior  of  the  tower;  and  the  gilded  gentlemen  rest 
from  their  labours  with  contentment. 

I  had  a  great  deal  of  healthy  pleasure  from  their  ma- 
noeuvres, and  took  good  care  to  miss  as  few  performances 
as  possible;  and  I  found  that  even  the  Cigarette,  while 
he  pretended  to  despise  my  enthusiasm,  was  more  or 
less  a  devotee  himself.  There  is  something  highly  ab- 
surd in  the  exposition  of  such  toys  to  the  outrages  of 
winter  on  a  housetop.  They  would  be  more  in  keep- 
ing in  a  glass  case  before  a  Nilrnberg  clock.  Above  all, 
at  night,  when  the  children  are  abed,  and  even  grown 
people  are  snoring  under  quilts,  does  it  not  seem  imper- 
tinent to  leave  these  gingerbread  figures  winking  and 
tinkling  to  the  stars  and  the  rolling  moon  }  The  gar- 
goyles may  fitly  enough  twist  their  ape-like  heads ;  fitly 

!06 


AT  COMPIEGNE 

enough  may  the  potentate  bestride  his  charger,  like  a 
centurion  in  an  old  German  print  of  the  Via  Dolorosa; 
but  the  toys  should  be  put  away  in  a  box  among  some 
cotton,  until  the  sun  rises,  and  the  children  are  abroad 
again  to  be  amused. 

In  Compiegne  post-ofFice  a  great  packet  of  letters 
awaited  us ;  and  the  authorities  were,  for  this  occasion 
only,  so  polite  as  to  hand  them  over  upon  application. 

In  some  way,  our  journey  may  be  said  to  end  with 
this  letter-bag  at  Compiegne.  The  spell  was  broken. 
We  had  partly  come  home  from  that  moment. 

No  one  should  have  any  correspondence  on  a  journey; 
it  is  bad  enough  to  have  to  write;  but  the  receipt  of 
letters  is  the  death  of  all  holiday  feeling. 

''Out  of  my  country  and  myself  I  go."  I  wish  to 
take  a  dive  among  new  conditions  for  a  while,  as  into 
another  element.  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  my  friends 
or  my  affections  for  the  time ;  when  I  came  away,  1  left 
my  heart  at  home  in  a  desk,  or  sent  it  forward  with 
portmanteau  to  await  me  at  my  destination.  After  my 
journey  is  over,  I  shall  not  fail  to  read  your  admirable 
letters  with  the  attention  they  deserve.  But  I  have  paid 
all  this  money,  look  you,  and  paddled  all  these  strokes, 
for  no  other  purpose  than  to  be  abroad;  and  yet  you 
keep  me  at  home  with  your  perpetual  communications. 
You  tug  the  string,  and  I  feel  that  I  am  a  tethered  bird. 
You  pursue  me  all  over  Europe  with  the  little  vexations 
that  1  came  away  to  avoid.  There  is  no  discharge  in 
the  war  of  life,  I  am  well  aware ;  but  shall  there  not  be 
so  much  as  a  week's  furlough  } 

We  were  up  by  six,  the  day  we  were  to  leave.  They 
had  taken  so  little  note  of  us  that  I  hardly  thought  they 

107 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

would  have  condescended  on  a  bill.  But  they  did,  w^ith 
some  smart  particulars,  too;  and  we  paid  in  a  civilized 
manner  to  an  uninterested  clerk,  and  went  out  of  that 
hotel,  with  the  india-rubber  bags,  unremarked.  No  one 
cared  to  know  about  us.  It  is  not  possible  to  rise  be- 
fore a  village;  but  Compiegne  was  so  grown  a  town 
that  it  took  its  ease  in  the  morning ;  and  we  were  up  and 
away  while  it  was  still  in  dressing-gown  and  slippers. 
The  streets  were  left  to  people  washing  door-steps;  no- 
body was  in  full  dress  but  the  cavaliers  upon  the  town 
hall ;  they  were  all  washed  with  dew,  spruce  in  their 
gilding,  and  full  of  intelligence  and  a  sense  of  profes- 
sional responsibility.  Kling  went  they  on  the  bells  for 
the  half  past  six,  as  we  went  by.  I  took  it  kind  of 
them  to  make  me  this  parting  compliment;  they  never 
were  in  better  form,  not  even  at  noon  upon  a  Sunday. 

There  was  no  one  to  see  us  off  but  the  early  washer- 
women,— early  and  late, — who  were  already  beating 
the  linen  in  their  floating  lavatory  on  the  river.  They 
were  very  merry  and  matutinal  in  their  ways ;  plunged 
their  arms  boldly  in,  and  seemed  not  to  feel  the  shock. 
It  would  be  dispiriting  to  me,  this  early  beginning  and 
first  cold  dabble  of  a  most  dispiriting  day's  work.  But 
I  believe  they  would  have  been  as  unwilling  to  change 
days  with  us  as  we  could  be  to  change  with  them. 
They  crowded  to  the  door  to  watch  us  paddle  away  into 
the  thin  sunny  mists  upon  the  river;  and  shouted 
heartily  after  us  till  we  were  through  the  bridge. 


1 08 


CHANGED   TIMES 

There  is  a  sense  in  which  those  mists  never  rose  from 
off  our  journey ;  and  from  that  time  forth  they  lie  very 
densely  in  my  note-book.  As  long  as  the  Oise  was  a 
small,  rural  river  it  took  us  near  by  people's  doors,  and 
we  could  hold  a  conversation  with  natives  in  the  ripa- 
rian fields.  But  now  that  it  had  grown  so  wide,  the  life 
along  shore  passed  us  by  at  a  distance.  It  was  the  same 
difference  as  between  a  great  public  highway  and  a 
country  bypath  that  wanders  in  and  out  of  cottage  gar- 
dens. We  now  lay  in  towns,  where  nobody  troubled 
us  with  questions;  we  had  floated  into  civilized  life, 
where  people  pass  without  salutation.  In  sparsely  in- 
habited places  we  make  all  we  can  of  each  encounter; 
but  when  it  comes  to  a  city,  we  keep  to  ourselves,  and 
never  speak  unless  we  have  trodden  on  a  man's  toes. 
In  these  waters  we  were  no  longer  strange  birds,  and 
nobody  supposed  we  had  travelled  farther  than  from  the 
last  town.  I  remember,  when  we  came  into  L'Isle 
Adam,  for  instance,  how  we  met  dozens  of  pleasure- 
boats  outing  it  for  the  afternoon,  and  there  was  nothing 
to  distinguish  the  true  voyager  from  the  amateur,  ex- 
cept, perhaps,  the  filthy  condition  of  my  sail.  The  com- 
pany in  one  boat  actually  thought  they  recognised  me 

109 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

for  a  neighbour.  Was  there  ever  anything  more  wound- 
ing ?  All  the  romance  had  come  down  to  that.  Now, 
on  the  upper  Oise,  where  nothing  sailed,  as  a  general 
thing,  but  fish,  a  pair  of  canoeists  could  not  be  thus  vul- 
garly explained  away ;  we  were  strange  and  picturesque 
intruders;  and  out  of  people's  wonder  sprang  a  sort  of 
light  and  passing  intimacy  all  along  our  route.  There  is 
nothing  but  tit  for  tat  in  this  world,  though  sometimes  it 
be  a  little  difficult  to  trace :  for  the  scores  are  older  than 
we  ourselves,  and  there  has  never  yet  been  a  settling- 
day  since  things  were.  You  get  entertainment  pretty 
much  in  proportion  as  you  give.  As  long  as  we  were 
a  sort  of  odd  wanderers,  to  be  stared  at  and  followed 
like  a  quack  doctor  or  a  caravan,  we  had  no  want  of 
amusement  in  return ;  but  as  soon  as  we  sank  into  com- 
monplace ourselves,  all  whom  we  met  were  similarly 
disenchanted.  And  here  is  one  reason  of  a  dozen  why 
the  world  is  dull  to  dull  persons. 

In  our  earlier  adventures  there  was  generally  some- 
thing to  do,  and  that  quickened  us.  Even  the  showers 
of  rain  had  a  revivifying  effect,  and  shook  up  the  brain 
from  torpor.  But  now,  when  the  river  no  longer  ran  in 
a  proper  sense,  only  glided  seaward  with  an  even,  out- 
right, but  imperceptible  speed,  and  when  the  sky  smiled 
upon  us  day  after  day  without  variety,  we  began  to  slip 
into  that  golden  doze  of  the  mind  which  follows  upon 
much  exercise  in  the  open  air.  I  have  stupefied  myself 
in  this  way  more  than  once:  indeed,  I  dearly  love  the 
feeling ;  but  I  never  had  it  to  the  same  degree  as  when 
paddling  down  the  Oise.  It  was  the  apotheosis  of  stu- 
pidity. 

We  ceased  reading  entirely.  Sometimes,  when  ! 
no 


CHANGED  TIMES 

found  a  new  paper,  I  took  a  particular  pleasure  in  read- 
ing a  single  number  of  the  current  novel;  but  I  never 
could  bear  more  than  three  instalments;  and  even  the 
second  was  a  disappointment.  As  soon  as  the  tale  be- 
came in  any  way  perspicuous,  it  lost  all  merit  in  my 
eyes ;  only  a  single  scene,  or,  as  is  the  way  with  these 
feuilletons,  half  a  scene,  without  antecedent  or  conse- 
quence, like  a  piece  of  a  dream,  had  the  knack  of  fixing 
my  interest.  The  less  I  saw  of  the  novel  the  better  I 
liked  it :  a  pregnant  reflection.  But  for  the  most  part, 
as  I  said,  we  neither  of  us  read  anything  in  the  world, 
and  employed  the  very  little  while  we  were  awake  be- 
tween bed  and  dinner  in  poring  upon  maps.  I  have 
always  been  fond  of  maps,  and  can  voyage  in  an  atlas 
with  the  greatest  enjoyment.  The  names  of  places  are 
singularly  inviting ;  the  contour  of  coasts  and  rivers  is 
enthralling  to  the  eye;  and  to  hit  in  a  map  upon  some 
place  you  have  heard  of  before  makes  history  a  new 
possession.  But  we  thumbed  our  charts,  on  those 
evenings,  with  the  blankest  unconcern.  We  cared  not 
a  fraction  for  this  place  or  that.  We  stared  at  the  sheet 
as  children  listen  to  their  rattle,  and  read  the  names  of 
towns  or  villages  to  forget  them  again  at  once.  We 
had  no  romance  in  the  matter;  there  was  nobody  so 
fancy-free.  If  you  had  taken  the  maps  away  while  we 
were  studying  them  most  intently,  it  is  a  fair  bet  whether 
we  might  not  have  continued  to  study  the  table  with 
the  same  delight. 

About  one  thing  we  were  mightily  taken  up,  and 
that  was  eating.  I  think  I  made  a  god  of  my  belly.  I 
remember  dwelling  in  imagination  upon  this  or  that 
dish  till  my  mouth  watered ;  and  long  before  we  got 

II I 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

in  for  the  night  my  appetite  was  a  clamant,  instant  an- 
noyance. Sometimes  we  paddled  alongside  for  a  while 
and  whetted  each  other  with  gastronomical  fancies  as 
we  went.  Cake  and  sherry,  a  homely  refection,  but 
not  within  reach  upon  the  Oise,  trotted  through  my 
head  for  many  a  mile;  and  once,  as  we  were  approach- 
ing Verherie,  the  Cigarette  brought  my  heart  into  my 
mouth  by  the  suggestion  of  oyster  patties  and  Sauterne. 

I  suppose  none  of  us  recognise  the  great  part  that  is 
played  in  life  by  eating  and  drinking.  The  appetite  is 
so  imperious  that  we  can  stomach  the  least  interesting 
viands,  and  pass  off  a  dinner  hour  thankfully  enough  on 
bread  and  water;  just  as  there  are  men  who  must  read 
something,  if  it  were  only  ^radshaw' s  Guide.  But 
there  is  a  romance  about  the  matter,  after  all.  Probably 
the  table  has  more  devotees  than  love;  and  I  am  sure 
that  food  is  much  more  generally  entertaining  than 
scenery.  Do  you  give  in,  as  Walt  Whitman  would 
say,  that  you  are  any  the  less  immortal  for  that }  The 
true  materialism  is  to  be  ashamed  of  what  we  are.  To 
detect  the  flavour  of  an  olive  is  no  less  a  piece  of  human 
perfection  than  to  find  beauty  in  the  colours  of  the  sun- 
set. 

Canoeing  was  easy  work.  To  dip  the  paddle  at  the 
proper  inclination,  now  right,  now  left;  to  keep  the  head 
down  stream ;  to  empty  the  little  pool  that  gathered  in 
the  lap  of  the  apron;  to  screw  up  the  eyes  against  the 
glittering  sparkles  of  sun  upon  the  water;  or  now  and 
again  to  pass  below  the  whistling  tow-rope  of  the  Deo 
Gratias  of  Conde,  or  Four  Sons  of  Aymon, —  there  was 
not  much  art  in  that;  certainly  silly  muscles  managed 
it  between  sleep  and  waking;  and  meanwhile  the  brain 


CHANGED  TIMES 

had  a  whole  holiday,  and  went  to  sleep.  We  took  in 
at  a  glance  the  larger  features  of  the  scene,  and  beheld, 
with  half  an  eye,  bloused  fishers  and  dabbling  washer- 
women on  the  bank.  Now  and  again  we  might  be  half 
wakened  by  some  church  spire,  by  a  leaping  fish,  or  by 
a  trail  of  river  grass  that  clung  about  the  paddle  and  had 
to  be  plucked  off  and  thrown  away.  But  these  luminous 
intervals  were  only  partially  luminous.  A  little  more  of 
us  was  called  into  action,  but  never  the  whole.  The 
central  bureau  of  nerves,  what  in  some  moods  we  call 
Ourselves,  enjoyed  its  holiday  without  disturbance,  like 
a  Government  Office.  The  great  wheels  of  intelligence 
turned  idly  in  the  head,  like  fly-wheels,  grinding  no 
grist.  I  have  gone  on  for  half  an  hour  at  a  time,  count- 
ing my  strokes  and  forgetting  the  hundreds.  I  flatter 
myself  the  beasts  that  perish  could  not  underbid  that,  as 
a  low  form  of  consciousness.  And  what  a  pleasure  it 
was !  What  a  hearty,  tolerant  temper  did  it  bring  about ! 
There  is  nothing  captious  about  a  man  who  has  attained 
to  this,  the  one  possible  apotheosis  in  life,  the  Apothe- 
osis of  Stupidity;  and  he  begins  to  feel  dignified  and 
longevous  like  a  tree. 

There  was  one  odd  piece  of  practical  metaphysics 
which  accompanied  what  1  may  call  the  depth,  if  I  must 
not  call  it  the  intensity,  of  my  abstraction.  What  phi- 
losophers call  me  and  not  me,  ego  and  non  ego,  preoc- 
cupied me  whether  1  would  or  no.  There  was  less  me 
and  more  not  me  than  1  was  accustomed  to  expect.  I 
looked  on  upon  somebody  else,  who  managed  the  pad- 
dling; I  was  aware  of  somebody  else's  feet  against  the 
stretcher;  my  own  body  seemed  to  have  no  more  inti- 
mate relation  to  me  than  the  canoe,  or  the  river,  or  the 

113 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

river  banks.  Nor  this  alone :  something  inside  my  mind, 
a  part  of  my  brain,  a  province  of  my  proper  being,  had 
thrown  off  allegiance  and  set  up  for  itself,  or  perhaps 
for  the  somebody  else  who  did  the  paddling.  I  had 
dwindled  into  quite  a  little  thing  in  a  corner  of  myself. 
I  was  isolated  in  my  own  skull.  Thoughts  presented 
themselves  unbidden ;  they  were  not  my  thoughts,  they 
were  plainly  some  one  else's;  and  I  considered  them 
like  a  part  of  the  landscape.  I  take  it,  in  short,  that  I 
was  about  as  near  Nirvana  as  would  be  convenient  in 
practical  life ;  and,  if  this  be  so,  I  make  the  Buddhists 
my  sincere  compliments;  't  is  an  agreeable  state,  not 
very  consistent  with  mental  brilliancy,  not  exactly  prof- 
itable in  a  money  point  of  view,  but  very  calm,  golden, 
and  incurious,  and  one  that  sets  a  man  superior  to 
alarms.  It  may  be  best  figured  by  supposing  yourself 
to  get  dead  drunk,  and  yet  keep  sober  to  enjoy  it.  I 
have  a  notion  that  open-air  laborers  must  spend  a  large 
portion  of  their  days  in  this  ecstatic  stupor,  which  ex- 
plains their  high  composure  and  endurance.  A  pity  to  go 
to  the  expense  of  laudanum  when  here  is  a  better  para- 
dise for  nothing ! 

This  frame  of  mind  was  the  great  exploit  of  our  voy- 
age, take  it  all  in  all.  It  was  the  farthest  piece  of  travel 
accomplished.  Indeed,  it  lies  so  far  from  beaten  paths 
of  language  that  I  despair  of  getting  the  reader  into 
sympathy  with  the  smiling,  complacent  idiocy  of  my 
condition ;  when  ideas  came  and  went  like  motes  in  a 
sunbeam ;  when  trees  and  church  spires  along  the  bank 
surged  up  from  time  to  time  into  my  notice,  like  solid 
objects  through  a  rolling  cloud-land;  when  the  rhyth- 
mical swish  of  boat  and  paddle  in  the  water  became  a 

114 


CHANGED  TIMES 

cradle-song  to  lull  my  thoughts  asleep ;  when  a  piece  of 
mud  on  the  deck  was  sometimes  an  intolerable  eyesore, 
and  sometimes  quite  a  companion  for  me,  and  the  object 
of  pleased  consideration ;  and  all  the  time,  with  the  river 
running  and  the  shores  changing  upon  either  hand,  I 
kept  counting  my  strokes  and  forgetting  the  hundreds, 
the  happiest  animal  in  France,  '^ 


1*3 


DOWN  THE  OISE 

CHURCH   INTERIORS 

We  made  our  first  stage  below  Compi^gne  to  Pont 
Sainte  Maxence.  I  was  abroad  a  little  after  six  the  next 
morning.  The  air  was  biting  and  smelt  of  frost.  In  an 
open  place  a  score  of  women  wrangled  together  over 
the  day's  market;  and  the  noise  of  their  negotiation 
sounded  thin  and  querulous,  like  that  of  sparrows  on  a 
winter's  morning.  The  rare  passengers  blew  into  their 
hands,  and  shuffled  in  their  wooden  shoes  to  set  the 
blood  agog.  The  streets  were  full  of  icy  shadow,  al- 
though the  chimneys  were  smoking  overhead  in  golden 
sunshine.  If  you  wake  early  enough  at  this  season  of 
the  year,  you  may  get  up  in  December  to  break  your 
fast  in  June, 

I  found  my  way  to  the  church,  for  there  is  always 
something  to  see  about  a  church,  whether  living  wor- 
shippers or  dead  men's  tombs ;  you  find  there  the  dead- 
liest earnest,  and  the  hollowest  deceit;  and  even  where 
it  is  not  a  piece  of  history,  it  will  be  certain  to  leak  out 
some  contemporary  gossip.  It  was  scarcely  so  cold  in 
the  church  as  it  was  without,  but  it  looked  colder.  The 
white  nave  was  positively  arctic  to  the  eye;  and  the 
tawdriness  of  a  continental  altar  looked  more  forlorn 
than  usual  in  the  solitude  and  the  bleak  air.    Two  priests 

ii6 


DOWN   THE  OlSE 

sat  in  the  chancel  reading  and  waiting  penitents ;  and  out 
in  the  nave  one  very  old  woman  was  engaged  in  her  de- 
votions. It  was  a  wonder  how  she  was  able  to  pass  her 
beads  when  healthy  young  people  were  breathing  in 
their  palms  and  slapping  their  chest;  but  though  this 
concerned  me,  I  was  yet  more  dispirited  by  the  nature 
of  her  exercises.  She  went  from  chair  to  chair,  from 
altar  to  altar,  circumnavigating  the  church.  To  each 
shrine  she  dedicated  an  equal  number  of  beads  and  an 
equal  length  of  time.  Like  a  prudent  capitalist  with  a 
somewhat  cynical  view  of  the  commercial  prospect,  she 
desired  to  place  her  supplications  in  a  great  variety  of 
heavenly  securities.  She  would  risk  nothing  on  the 
credit  of  any  single  intercessor.  Out  of  the  whole 
company  of  saints  and  angels,  not  one  but  was  to  sup- 
pose himself  her  champion  elect  against  the  Great  As- 
sizes! 1  could  only  think  of  it  as  a  dull,  transparent 
jugglery,  based  upon  unconscious  unbelief. 

She  was  as  dead  an  old  woman  as  ever  I  saw;  no 
more  than  bone  and  parchment,  curiously  put  together. 
Her  eyes,  with  which  she  interrogated  mine,  were  va- 
cant of  sense.  It  depends  on  what  you  call  seeing, 
whether  you  might  not  call  her  blind.  Perhaps  she  had 
known  love:  perhaps  borne  children,  suckled  them,  and 
given  them  pet  names.  But  now  that  was  all  gone  by, 
and  had  left  her  neither  happier  nor  wiser;  and  the  best 
she  could  do  with  her  mornings  was  to  come  up  here 
into  the  cold  church  and  juggle  for  a  slice  of  heaven.  It 
was  not  without  a  gulp  that  I  escaped  into  the  streets 
and  the  keen  morning  air.  Morning  ?  why,  how  tired 
of  it  she  would  be  before  night!  and  if  she  did  not  sleep, 
how  then  ?    It  is  fortunate  that  not  many  of  us  are 

117 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

brought  up  publicly  to  justify  our  lives  at  the  bar  of  three- 
score years  and  ten ;  fortunate  that  such  a  number  are 
knocked  opportunely  on  the  head  in  what  they  call  the 
flower  of  their  years,  and  go  away  to  suffer  for  their 
follies  in  private  somewhere  else.  Otherwise,  between 
sick  children  and  discontented  old  folk,  we  might  be 
put  out  of  all  conceit  of  life. 

I  had  need  of  all  my  cerebral  hygiene  during  that  day's 
paddle :  the  old  devotee  stuck  in  my  throat  sorely.  But 
I  was  soon  in  the  seventh  heaven  of  stupidity ;  and  knew 
nothing  but  that  somebody  was  paddling  a  canoe,  while 
I  was  counting  his  strokes  and  forgetting  the  hundreds. 
I  used  sometimes  to  be  afraid  I  should  remember  the 
hundreds;  which  would  have  made  a  toil  of  a  pleasure; 
but  the  terror  was  chimerical,  they  went  out  of  my 
mind  by  enchantment,  and  I  knew  no  more  than  the 
man  in  the  moon  about  my  only  occupation. 

At  Creil,  where  we  stopped  to  lunch,  we,  left  the  ca- 
noes in  another  floating  lavatory,  which,  as  it  was  high 
noon,  was  packed  with  washerwomen,  red-handed  and 
loud-voiced ;  and  they  and  their  broad  jokes  are  about 
&11 1  remember  of  the  place.  I  could  look  up  my  history 
books,  if  you  were  very  anxious,  and  tell  you  a  date  or 
two;  for  it  figured  rather  largely  in  the  English  wars. 
But  I  prefer  to  mention  a  girls'  boarding-school,  which 
had  an  interest  for  us  because  it  was  a  girls'  boarding- 
school,  and  because  we  imagined  we  had  rather  an  in- 
terest for  it.  At  least,  there  were  the  girls  about  the 
garden;  and  here  were  we  on  the  river;  and  there  was 
more  than  one  handkerchief  waved  as  we  went  by.  It 
caused  quite  a  stir  in  my  heart;  and  yet  how  we  should 
have  wearied  and  despised  each  other,  these  girls  and  I, 


DOWN   THE  OlSE 

if  we  had  been  introduced  at  a  croquet  party !  But  this 
is  a  fashion  I  love :  to  kiss  the  hand  or  wave  a  handker- 
chief to  people  I  shall  never  see  again,  to  play  with  pos- 
sibility, and  knock  in  a  peg  for  fancy  to  hang  upon.  It 
gives  the  traveller  a  jog,  reminds  him  that  he  is  not  a 
traveller  everywhere,  and  that  his  journey  is  no  more 
than  a  siesta  by  the  way  on  the  real  march  of  life. 

The  church  at  Creil  was  a  nondescript  place  in  the 
inside,  splashed  with  gaudy  lights  from  the  windows, 
and  picked  out  with  medallions  of  the  Dolorom  Way. 
But  there  was  one  oddity,  in  the  way  of  an  ex  voto, 
which  pleased  me  hugely :  a  faithful  model  of  a  canal 
boat,  swung  from  the  vault,  with  a  written  aspiration 
that  God  should  conduct  the  Saint  Nicholas  of  Creil  to 
a  good  haven.  The  thing  was  neatly  executed,  and 
would  have  made  the  delight  of  a  party  of  boys  on  the 
water-side.  But  what  tickled  me  was  the  gravity  of  the 
peril  to  be  conjured.  You  might  hang  up  the  model  of 
a  sea-going  ship,  and  welcome:  one  that  is  to  plough 
a  furrow  round  the  world,  and  visit  the  tropic  or  the 
frosty  poles,  runs  dangers  that  are  well  worth  a  candle 
and  a  mass.  But  the  Saint  Nicholas  of  Cm/,  which 
was  to  be  tugged  for  some  ten  years  by  patient  draught 
horses,  in  a  weedy  canal,  with  the  poplars  chattering 
overhead,  and  the  skipper  whistling  at  the  tiller;  which 
was  to  do  all  its  errands  in  green  inland  places,  and 
never  got  out  of  sight  of  a  village  belfry  in  all  its  cruis- 
ing; why,  you  would  have  thought  if  anything  could 
be  done  without  the  intervention  of  Providence,  it  would 
be  that!  But  perhaps  the  skipper  was  a  humourist:  or 
perhaps  a  prophet,  reminding  people  of  the  seriousness 
of  life  by  this  preposterous  token. 

119 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

At  Creily  as  at  Noyon,  Saint  Joseph  seemed  a  favourite 
saint  on  the  score  of  punctuality.  Day  and  hour  can  be 
specified ;  and  grateful  people  do  not  fail  to  specify  them 
on  a  votive  tablet,  when  prayers  have  been  punctually  and 
neatly  answered.  Whenever  time  is  a  consideration, 
Saint  Joseph  is  the  proper  intermediary.  I  took  a  sort 
of  pleasure  in  observing  the  vogue  he  had  in  France, 
for  the  good  man  plays  a  very  small  part  in  my  religion 
at  home.  Yet  I  could  not  help  fearing  that,  where  the 
saint  is  so  much  commended  for  exactitude,  he  will  be 
expected  to  be  very  grateful  for  his  tablet. 

This  is  foolishness  to  us  Protestants ;  and  not  of  great 
importance  any  way.  Whether  people's  gratitude  for 
the  good  gifts  that  come  to  them  be  wisely  conceived 
or  dutifully  expressed  is  a  secondary  matter,  after  all,  so 
long  as  they  feel  gratitude.  The  true  ignorance  is  when 
a  man  does  not  know  that  he  has  received  a  good  gift, 
or  begins  to  imagine  that  he  has  got  it  for  himself.  The 
self-made  man  is  the  funniest  windbag  after  all  !  There 
is  a  marked  difference  between  decreeing  light  in  chaos, 
and  lighting  the  gas  in  a  metropolitan  back-parlour  with 
a  box  of  patent  matches ;  and,  do  what  we  will,  there 
is  always  something  made  to  our  hand,  if  it  were  only 
our  fingers. 

But  there  was  something  worse  than  foolishness  pla- 
carded in  Creil  Church.  The  Association  of  the  Living  Ro- 
sary (of  which  I  had  never  previously  heard)  is  responsible 
for  that.  This  association  was  founded,  according  to  the 
printed  advertisement,  by  a  brief  of  Pope  Gregory  Six- 
teenth, on  the  17th  oi  January,  1832:  according  to  a 
colored  bas-relief,  it  seems  to  have  been  founded,  some 
time  or  other,  by  the  Virgin  giving  one  rosary  to  Saint 


DOWN   THE  OISE 

Dominic,  and  the  Infant  Saviour  giving  another  to  Saint 
Catherine  of  Sienna.  Pope  Gregory  is  not  so  imposing, 
but  he  is  nearer  hand.  I  could  not  distinctly  make  out 
whether  the  association  was  entirely  devotional,  or  had 
an  eye  to  good  works ;  at  least  it  is  highly  organised : 
the  names  of  fourteen  matrons  and  misses  were  filled  in 
for  each  week  of  the  month  as  associates,  with  one 
other,  generally  a  married  woman,  at  the  top  for  Zela- 
trice,  the  choragus  of  the  band.  Indulgences,  plenary 
And  partial,  follow  on  the  performance  of  the  duties  of 
the  association.  "The  partial  indulgences  are  attached 
to  the  recitation  of  the  rosary."  On  ''the  recitation  of 
the  rt(\\i\xt6.  di^aine,"  a.  partial  indulgence  promptly  fol- 
lows. When  people  serve  the  kingdom  of  Heaven  with 
a  pass-book  in  their  hands,  I  should  always  be  afraid 
lest  they  should  carry  the  same  commercial  spirit  into 
their  dealings  with  their  fellow-men,  which  would  make 
a  sad  and  sordid  business  of  this  life. 

There  is  one  more  article,  however,  of  happier  import. 
''All  these  indulgences,"  it  appeared,  "are  applicable  to 
souls  in  purgatory."  For  God's  sake,  ye  ladies  of  Creil, 
apply  them  all  to  the  souls  in  purgatory  without  delay ! 
Burns  would  take  no  hire  for  his  last  songs,  preferring 
to  serve  his  country  out  of  unmixed  love.  Suppose  you 
were  to  imitate  the  exciseman,  mesdames,  and  even  if 
the  souls  in  purgatory  were  not  greatly  bettered,  some 
souls  in  Creil  upon  the  Oise  would  find  themselves  none 
the  worse  either  here  or  hereafter. 

I  cannot  help  wondering,  as  I  transcribe  these  notes, 
whether  a  Protestant  born  and  bred  is  in  a  fit  state  to 
understand  these  signs,  and  do  them  what  justice  they 
deserve ;  and  I  cannot  help  answering  that  he  is  not. 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

They  cannot  look  so  merely  ugly  and  mean  to  the  faith- 
ful as  they  do  to  me.  I  see  that  as  clearly  as  a  proposi- 
tion in  Euclid.  For  these  believers  are  neither  weak 
nor  wicked.  They  can  put  up  their  tablet  commending 
Saint  Joseph  for  his  despatch  as  if  he  were  still  a  village 
carpenter;  they  can  "recite  the  required  di^aine,''  and 
metaphorically  pocket  the  indulgences  as  if  they  had 
done  a  job  for  heaven ;  and  then  they  can  go  out  and 
look  down  unabashed  upon  this  wonderful  river  flowing 
by,  and  up  without  confusion  at  the  pin-point  stars, 
which  are  themselves  great  worlds  full  of  flowing  rivers 
greater  than  the  Oise,  I  see  it  as  plainly,  I  say,  as  a 
proposition  in  Euclid,  that  my  Protestant  mind  has 
missed  the  point,  and  that  there  goes  with  these  defor- 
mities some  higher  and  more  religious  spirit  than  I 
dream. 

I  wonder  if  other  people  would  make  the  same  allow- 
ances for  me  }  Like  the  ladies  of  Creil,  having  recited 
my  rosary  of  toleration,  I  look  for  my  indulgence  on  the 
spot. 


122 


pr6cy  and  the  marionettes 

We  made  Precy  about  sundown.  The  plain  is  rich 
with  tufts  of  poplar.  In  a  wide,  luminous  curve  the 
Oise  lay  under  the  hillside.  A  faint  mist  began  to  rise 
and  confound  the  different  distances  together.  There 
was  not  a  sound  audible  but  that  of  the  sheep-bells  in 
some  meadows  by  the  river,  and  the  creaking  of  a  cart 
down  the  long  road  that  descends  the  hill.  The  villas 
in  their  gardens,  the  shops  along  the  street,  all  seemed 
to  have  been  deserted  the  day  before ;  and  1  felt  inclined 
to  walk  discreetly  as  one  feels  in  a  silent  forest.  All  of 
a  sudden  we  came  round  a  corner,  and  there,  in  a  little 
green  round  the  church,  was  a  bevy  of  girls  in  Parisian 
costumes  playing  croquet.  Their  laughter  and  the  hol- 
low sound  of  ball  and  mallet  made  a  cheery  stir  in  the 
neighbourhood ;  and  the  look  of  these  slim  figures,  all 
corseted  and  ribboned,  produced  an  answerable  dis- 
turbance in  our  hearts.  We  were  within  sniff  of  Paris^ 
it  seemed.  And  here  were  females  of  our  own  species 
playing  croquet,  just  as  if  Pr^cy  had  been  a  place  in  real 
life  instead  of  a  stage  in  the  fairy-land  of  travel.  For, 
to  be  frank,  the  peasant-woman  is  scarcely  to  be  counted 
as  a  woman  at  all,  and  after  having  passed  by  such  a 
succession  of  people  in  petticoats  digging,  and  hoeing, 

123 


AN   INLAND  VOYAGE 

and  making  dinner,  this  company  of  coquettes  under 
arms  made  quite  a  surprising  feature  in  the  landscape, 
and  convinced  us  at  once  of  being  fallible  males. 

The  inn  at  Precy  is  the  worst  inn  in  France.  Not 
even  in  Scotland  have  I  found  worse  fare.  It  was  kept 
by  a  brother  and  sister,  neither  of  whom  was  out  of  their 
teens.  The  sister,  so  to  speak,  prepared  a  meal  for  us ; 
and  the  brother,  who  had  been  tippling,  came  in  and 
brought  with  him  a  tipsy  butcher,  to  entertain  us  as  we 
ate.  We  found  pieces  of  loo-warm  pork  among  the 
salad,  and  pieces  of  unknown  yielding  substance  in  the 
ragout.  The  butcher  entertained  us  with  pictures  of 
Parisian  life,  with  which  he  professed  himself  well  ac- 
quainted ;  the  brother  sitting  the  while  on  the  edge  of 
the  billiard  table,  toppling  precariously,  and  sucking  the 
stump  of  a  cigar.  In  the  midst  of  these  diversions  bang 
went  a  drum  past  the  house,  and  a  hoarse  voice  began 
issuing  a  proclamation.  It  was  a  man  with  marionettes 
announcing  a  performance  for  that  evening. 

He  had  set  up  his  caravan  and  lighted  his  candles  on 
another  part  of  the  girls'  croquet  green,  under  one  of 
those  open  sheds  which  are  so  common  in  France  to 
shelter  markets ;  and  he  and  his  wife,  by  the  time  we 
strolled  up  there,  were  trying  to  keep  order  with  the 
audience. 

It  was  the  most  absurd  contention.  The  show-peo- 
ple had  set  out  a  certain  number  of  benches ;  and  all  who 
sat  upon  them  were  to  pay  a  couple  of  som  for  the  ac- 
commodation. They  were  always  quite  full  —  a  bum- 
per house  —  as  long  as  nothing  was  going  forward ;  but 
let  the  show-woman  appear  with  an  eye  to  a  collection, 
and  at  the  first  rattle  of  the  tambourine  the  audience 

124 


PRECY  AND   THE  MARIONETTES 

slipped  off  the  seats  and  stood  round  on  the  outside, 
with  their  hands  in  their  pockets.  It  certainly  would 
have  tried  an  angel's  temper.  The  showman  roared 
from  the  proscenium ;  he  had  been  all  over  France,  and 
nowhere,  nowhere,  **not  even  on  the  borders  of  Ger- 
many/' had  he  met  with  such  misconduct.  Such 
thieves,  and  rogues,  and  rascals  as  he  called  them !  And 
now  and  again  the  wife  issued  on  another  round,  and 
added  her  shrill  quota  to  the  tirade.  I  remarked  here, 
as  elsewhere,  how  far  more  copious  is  the  female  mind 
in  the  material  of  insult.  The  audience  laughed  in  high 
good-humour  over  the  man's  declamations;  but  they 
bridled  and  cried  aloud  under  the  woman's  pungent  sal- 
lies. She  picked  out  the  sore  points.  She  had  the  honour 
of  the  village  at  her  mercy.  Voices  answered  her  an- 
grily out  of  the  crowd,  and  received  a  smarting  retort 
for  their  trouble.  A  couple  of  old  ladies  beside  me,  who 
had  duly  paid  for  their  seats,  waxed  very  red  and  in- 
dignant, and  discoursed  to  each  other  audibly  about  the 
impudence  of  these  mountebanks;  but  as  soon  as  the 
show-woman  caught  a  whisper  of  this  she  was  down  upon 
them  with  a  swoop ;  if  mesdames  could  persuade  their 
neighbours  to  act  with  common  honesty,  the  mounte- 
banks, she  assured  them,  would  be  polite  enough ;  mes- 
dames had  probably  had  their  bowl  of  soup,  and,  per- 
haps, a  glass  of  wine  that  evening;  the  mountebanks, 
also,  had  a  taste  for  soup,  and  did  not  choose  to  have 
their  little  earnings  stolen  from  them  before  their  eyes. 
Once,  things  came  as  far  as  a  brief  personal  encounter 
between  the  showman  and  some  lads,  in  which  the 
former  went  down  as  readily  as  one  of  his  own  mario- 
nettes to  a  peal  of  jeering  laughter. 

125 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

I  was  a  good  deal  astonished  at  this  scene,  because  I 
am  pretty  well  acquainted  with  the  ways  of  French 
strollers,  more  or  less  artistic;  and  have  always  found 
them  singularly  pleasing.  Any  stroller  must  be  dear  to 
the  right-thinking  heart;  if  it  were  only  as  a  living  pro- 
test against  offices  and  the  mercantile  spirit,  and  as 
something  to  remind  us  that  life  is  not  by  necessity  the 
kind  of  thing  we  generally  make  it.  Even  a  German 
band,  if  you  see  it  leaving  town  in  the  early  morning 
for  a  campaign  in  country  places,  among  trees  and  mea- 
dows, has  a  romantic  flavour  for  the  imagination.  There 
is  nobody  under  thirty  so  dead  but  his  heart  will  stir  a 
little  at  sight  of  a  gypsies'  camp.  **  We  are  not  cotton- 
spinners  all";  or,  at  least,  not  all  through.  There  is 
some  life  in  humanity  yet;  and  youth  will  now  and 
again  find  a  brave  word  to  say  in  dispraise  of  riches,  and 
throw  up  a  situation  to  go  strolling  with  a  knapsack. 

An  Englishman  has  always  special  facilities  for  inter- 
course with  French  gymnasts ;  for  England  is  the  natural 
home  of  gymnasts.  This  or  that  fellow,  in  his  tights 
and  spangles,  is  sure  to  know  a  word  or  two  of  English, 
to  have  drunk  English  aff-n-aff,  and,  perhaps,  performed 
in  an  English  music  hall.  He  is  a  countryman  of  mine 
by  profession.  He  leaps  like  the  Belgian  boating-men 
to  the  notion  that  1  must  be  an  athlete  myself 

But  the  gymnast  is  not  my  favourite ;  he  has  little  or 
no  tincture  of  the  artist  in  his  composition ;  his  soul  is 
small  and  pedestrian,  for  the  most  part,  since  his  pro- 
fession makes  no  call  upon  it,  and  does  not  accustom 
him  to  high  ideas.  But  if  a  man  is  only  so  much 
of  an  actor  that  he  can  stumble  through  a  farce,  he  is 
made  free  of  a  new  order  of  thoughts.    He  has  some- 

126 


PRECY  AND   THE  MARIONETTES 

thing  else  to  think  about  beside  the  money-box.  He 
has  a  pride  of  his  own,  and,  what  is  of  far  more 
importance,  he  has  an  aim  before  him  that  he  can 
never  quite  attain.  He  has  gone  upon  a  pilgrimage 
that  will  last  him  his  life  long,  because  there  is  no 
end  to  it  short  of  perfection.  He  will  better  himself 
a  little  day  by  day;  or,  even  if  he  has  given  up  the 
attempt,  he  will  always  remember  that  once  upon  a 
time  he  had  conceived  this  high  ideal,  that  once  upon  a 
time  he  fell  in  love  with  a  star.  *"T  is  better  to  have 
loved  and  lost. "  Although  the  moon  should  have  nothing 
to  say  to  Endymion,  although  he  should  settle  down 
with  Audrey  and  feed  pigs,  do  you  not  think  he  would 
move  with  a  better  grace  and  cherish  higher  thoughts 
to  the  end  }  The  louts  he  meets  at  church  never  had  a 
fancy  above  Audrey's  snood ;  but  there  is  a  reminiscence 
in  Endymion's  heart  that,  like  a  spice,  keeps  it  fresh  and 
haughty. 

To  be  even  one  of  the  outskirters  of  art  leaves  a  fine 
stamp  on  a  man's  countenance.  I  remember  once  din- 
ing with  a  party  in  the  inn  at  Chateau  Landon,  Most 
of  them  were  unmistakable  bagmen ;  others  well-to-do 
peasantry;  but  there  was  one  young  fellow  in  a  blouse, 
whose  face  stood  out  from  among  the  rest  surprisingly. 
It  looked  more  finished ;  more  of  the  spirit  looked  out 
through  it;  it  had  a  living,  expressive  air,  and  you  could 
see  that  his  eyes  took  things  in.  My  companion  and  I 
wondered  greatly  who  and  what  he  could  be.  It  was 
fair  time  in  Chdteau  Landon,  and  when  we  went  along 
to  the  booths  we  had  our  question  answered ;  for  there 
was  our  friend  busily  fiddling  for  the  peasants  to  caper 
to.     He  was  a  wandering  violinist. 

127 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

A  troop  of  strollers  once  came  to  the  inn  where 
I  was  staying,  in  the  department  of  Seine  et  Marne. 
There  were  a  father  and  mother;  two  daughters,  brazen, 
blowsy  hussies,  who  sang  and  acted,  without  an  idea 
of  how  to  set  about  either;  and  a  dark  young  man,  like 
a  tutor,  a  recalcitrant  house-painter,  who  sang  and  acted 
not  amiss.  The  mother  was  the  genius  of  the  party,  so 
far  as  genius  can  be  spoken  of  with  regard  to  such  a 
pack  of  incompetent  humbugs;  and  her  husband  could 
not  find  words  to  express  his  admiration  for  her  comic 
countryman.  "  You  should  see  my  old  woman,"  said 
he,  and  nodded  his  beery  countenance.  One  night  they 
performed  in  the  stable-yard  with  flaring  lamps:  a 
wretched  exhibition,  coldly  looked  upon  by  a  village 
audience.  Next  night,  as  soon  as  the  lamps  were  lighted, 
there  came  a  plump  of  rain,  and  they  had  to  sweep 
away  their  baggage  as  fast  as  possible,  and  make  off  to 
the  barn,  where  they  harboured,  cold,  wet,  and  supper- 
less.  In  the  morning  a  dear  friend  of  mine,  who  has  as 
warm  a  heart  for  strollers  as  I  have  myself,  made  a  little 
collection,  and  sent  it  by  my  hands  to  comfort  them  for 
their  disappointment.  I  gave  it  to  the  father ;  he  thanked 
me  cordially,  and  we  drank  a  cup  together  in  the  kitch- 
en, talking  of  roads  and  audiences,  and  hard  times. 

When  I  was  going,  up  got  my  old  stroller,  and  off 
with  his  hat.  "I  am  afraid,"  said  he,  ''that  Monsieur 
will  think  me  altogether  a  beggar;  but  I  have  another 
demand  to  make  upon  him."  I  began  to  hate  him  on 
the  spot.  "We  play  again  to-night,"  he  went  on. 
''Of  course  I  shall  refuse  to  accept  any  more  money 
from  Monsieur  and  his  friends,  who  have  been  already 
so  liberal.     But  our  programme  of  to-night  is  something 

128 


PRECY  AND   THE  MARIONETTES 

truly  creditable;  and  I  cling  to  the  idea  that  Monsieur 
will  honour  us  with  his  presence."  And  then,  with  a 
shrug  and  a  smile :  * '  Monsieur  understands,  — the  van- 
ity of  an  artist!"  Save  the  mark!  The  vanity  of  an 
artist!  That  is  the  kind  of  thing  that  reconciles  me  to 
life:  a  ragged,  tippling,  incompetent  old  rogue,  with  the 
manners  of  a  gentleman  and  the  vanity  of  an  artist,  to 
keep  up  his  self-respect  I 

But  the  man  after  my  own  heart  is  M.  de  yauversin. 
It  is  nearly  two  years  since  I  saw  him  first,  and  indeed 
I  hope  I  may  see  him  often  again.  Here  is  his  first  pro- 
gramme as  I  found  it  on  the  breakfast-table,  and  have 

kept  it  ever  since  as  a  relic  of  bright  days : 

* '  Mesdames  et  Messieurs, 

"  Mademoiselle  Ferrario  et  M.  de  yauversin  auront 
thonneur  de  chanter  ce  soir  Ics  morceaux  suivants. 

*' Mademoiselle  Ferrario  chanter  a — Mignon  —  Oiseaux 
Legers  —  France  —  Des  Franfais  dorment  la  —  le  cha- 
teau bleu  —  0/i  voule^-vous  alter  ? 

'' M.  de  yauversin — Madame  Fontaine  etM,  Rohinet 
—  Les  plongeurs  a  cheval  —  Le  Mart  mecontent —  Tais- 
toiy  gamin  —  Man  voisin  I' original  —  Heureux  comme 
fa  —  comme  on  est  trompe." 

They  made  a  stage  at  one  end  of  the  salle-d-manger. 
And  what  a  sight  it  was  to  see  M.  de  Vauversin,  with 
a  cigarette  in  his  mouth,  twanging  a  guitar,  and  follow- 
ing Mademoiselle  Ferrario's  eyes  with  the  obedient, 
kindly  look  of  a  dog  !  The  entertainment  wound  up 
with  a  tombola,  or  auction  of  lottery  tickets :  an  admi- 
rable amusement,  with  all  the  excitement  of  gambling, 
and  no  hope  of  gain  to  make  you  ashamed  of  your  ea- 
gerness ;  for  there,  all  is  loss ;  you  make  haste  to  be  out 

129 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

of  pocket;  it  is  a  competition  who  shall  lose  most  money 
for  the  benefit  of  M.  de  Vauversin  and  Mademoiselle 
Ferrario. 

M.  de  Vauversin  is  a  small  man,  with  a  great  head  of 
black  hair,  a  vivacious  and  engaging  air,  and  a  smile 
that  would  be  delightful  if  he  had  better  teeth.  He  was 
once  an  actor  in  the  Chdtelet;  but  he  contracted  a  ner- 
vous affection  from  the  heat  and  glare  of  the  foot-lights, 
which  unfitted  him  for  the  stage.  At  this  crisis  Made- 
moiselle Ferrario,  otherwise  Mademoiselle  Rita  of  the 
AlcaT^ar,  agreed  to  share  his  wandering  fortunes.  **I 
could  never  forget  the  generosity  of  that  lady,"  said  he. 
He  wears  trousers  so  tight  that  it  has  long  been  a  prob- 
lem to  all  who  knew  him  how  he  manages  to  get  in  and 
out  of  them.  He  sketches  a  little  in  water-colours,  he 
writes  verses ;  he  is  the  most  patient  of  fishermen,  and 
spent  long  days  at  the  bottom  of  the  inn-garden  fruit- 
lessly dabbling  a  line  in  the  clear  river. 

You  should  hear  him  recounting  his  experiences  over 
a  bottle  of  wine;  such  a  pleasant  vein  of  talk  as  he  has, 
with  a  ready  smile  at  his  own  mishaps,  and  every  now 
and  then  a  sudden  gravity,  like  a  man  who  should  hear 
the  surf  roar  while  he  was  telling  the  perils  of  the  deep. 
For  it  was  no  longer  ago  than  last  night,  perhaps,  that 
the  receipts  only  amounted  to  a  franc  and  a  half  to  cover 
three  francs  of  railway  fare  and  two  of  board  and  lodg- 
ing. The  Maire,  a  man  worth  a  million  of  money,  sat 
in  the  front  seat,  repeatedly  applauding  Mile.  Ferrario, 
and  yet  gave  no  more  than  three  som  the  whole  even- 
ing. Local  authorities  look  with  such  an  evil  eye  upon 
the  strolling  artist.  Alas  !  I  know  it  well,  who  have 
been  myself  taken  for  one,  and  pitilessly  incarcerated  on 

130 


PRECY  AND   THE  MARIONETTES 

the  Strength  of  the  misapprehension.  Once,  M.  de  yau- 
versin  visited  a  commissary  of  police  for  permission  to 
sing.  The  commissary,  who  was  smoking  at  his  ease, 
politely  doffed  his  hat  upon  the  singer's  entrance.  ''  Mr. 
Commissary,"  he  began,  "I  am  an  artist."  And  on 
went  the  commissary's  hat  again.  No  courtesy  for  the 
companions  oi  Apollo  1  ' '  They  are  as  degraded  as  that, " 
said  M.  de  Vawversin,  with  a  sweep  of  his  cigarette. 

But  what  pleased  me  most  was  one  outbreak  of  his, 
when  we  had  been  talking  all  the  evening  of  the  rubs, 
indignities,  and  pinchings  of  his  wandering  life.  Some 
one  said  it  would  be  better  to  have  a  million  of  money 
down,  and  Mile.  Ferrario  admitted  that  she  would  pre- 
fer that  mightily.  ''Eh  Men,  mot  non; — not  I,"  cried 
De  Fauversin,  striking  the  table  with  his  hand.  '*If 
any  one  is  a  failure  in  the  world,  is  it  not  I  ?  I  had  an 
art,  in  which  I  have  done  things  well, —  as  well  as  some, 
better,  perhaps,  than  others ;  and  now  it  is  closed  against 
me.  I  must  go  about  the  country  gathering  coppers 
and  singing  nonsense.  Do  you  think  I  regret  my  life  ? 
Do  you  think  I  would  rather  be  a  fat  burgess,  like  a  calf? 
Not  I!  I  have  had  moments  when  I  have  been  ap- 
plauded on  the  boards:  I  think  nothing  of  that;  but  I 
have  known  in  my  own  mind  sometimes,  when  I  had 
not  a  clap  from  the  whole  house,  that  I  had  found  a  true 
intonation,  or  an  exact  and  speaking  gesture;  and  then, 
messieurs,  I  have  known  what  pleasure  was^  what  it 
was  to  do  a  thing  well,  what  it  was  to  be  an  artist. 
And  to  know  what  art  is,  is  to  have  an  interest  forever, 
such  as  no  burgess  can  find  in  his  petty  concerns.  Tene:(^, 
messieurs,  je  vats  vous  le  dire, —  it  is  like  a  religion." 

Such,  making  some  allowance  for  the  tricks  of  mem- 


AN   INLAND   VOYAGE 

ory  and  the  inaccuracies  of  translation,  was  the  profes- 
sion of  faith  of  M.  de  Vauversin.  I  have  given  him  his 
own  name,  lest  any  other  wanderer  should  come  across 
him,  with  his  guitar  and  cigarette,  and  Mademoiselle 
Ferrario;  for  should  not  all  the  world  delight  to  honour 
this  unfortunate  and  loyal  follower  of  the  Muses  ?  May 
Apollo  send  him  rhymes  hitherto  undreamed  of;  may 
the  river  be  no  longer  scanty  of  her  silver  fishes  to  his. 
lure;  may  the  cold  not  pinch  him  on  long  winter  rides, 
nor  the  village  jack-in-office  affront  him  with  unseemly 
manners ;  and  may  he  never  miss  Mademoiselle  Ferra- 
rio from  his  side,  to  follow  with  his  dutiful  eyes  and 
accompany  on  the  guitar! 

The  marionettes  made  a  very  dismal  entertainment. 
They  performed  a  piece  called  Pyramus  and  Thisbe,  in 
five  mortal  acts,  and  all  written  in  Alexandrines  fully  as 
long  as  the  performers.  One  marionette  was  the  king; 
another  the  wicked  counsellor;  a  third,  credited  with 
exceptional  beauty,  represented  Thisbe;  and  then  there 
were  guards,  and  obdurate  fathers,  and  walking  gentle- 
men. Nothing  particular  took  place  during  the  two  or 
three  acts  that  I  sat  out;  but  you  will  be  pleased  to  learn 
that  the  unities  were  properly  respected,  and  the  whole 
piece,  with  one  exception,  moved  in  harmony  with 
classical  rules.  That  exception  was  the  comic  country- 
man, a  lean  marionette  in  wooden  shoes,  who  spoke  in 
prose  and  in  a  broad  patois  much  appreciated  by  the 
audience.  He  took  unconstitutional  liberties  with  the 
person  of  his  sovereign ;  kicked  his  fellow-marionettes 
in  the  mouth  with  his  wooden  shoes,  and  whenever 
none  of  the  versifying  suitors  were  about,  made  love  to 
Thisbe  on  his  own  account  in  comic  prose. 

132 


PRECY  AND  THE  MARIONETTES 

This  fellow's  evolutions,  and  the  little  prologue,  in 
which  the  showman  made  a  humorous  eulogium  of  his 
troop,  praising  their  indifference  to  applause  and  hisses, 
and  their  single  devotion  to  their  art,  were  the  only  cir- 
cumstances in  the  whole  affair  that  you  could  fancy 
would  so  much  as  raise  a  smile.  But  the  villagers  of 
Precy  seemed  delighted.  Indeed,  so  long  as  a  thing  is 
an  exhibition,  and  you  pay  to  see  it,  it  is  nearly  certain 
to  amuse.  If  we  were  charged  so  much  a  head  for  sun- 
sets, or  if  God  sent  round  a  drum  before  the  hawthorns 
came  in  flower,  what  work  should  we  not  make  about 
their  beauty !  But  these  things,  like  good  companions, 
stupid  people  early  cease  to  observe;  and  the  Abstract 
Bagman  tittups  past  in  his  spring  gig,  and  is  positively 
not  aware  of  the  flowers  along  the  lane,  or  the  scenery 
of  the  weather  overhead. 


»53 


BACK  TO  THE  WORLD 

Of  the  next  two  days'  sail  little  remains  in  my  mind, 
and  nothing  whatever  in  my  note-book.  The  river 
streamed  on  steadily  through  pleasant  river-side  land- 
scapes. Washerwomen  in  blue  dresses,  fishers  in  blue 
blouses,  diversified  the  green  banks;  and  the  relation 
of  the  two  colours  was  like  that  of  the  flower  and  the 
leaf  in  the  forget-me-not.  A  symphony  in  forget-me- 
not;  I  think  TMophile  Gautier  might  thus  have  charac- 
terised that  two  days'  panorama.  The  sky  was  blue 
and  cloudless ;  and  the  sliding  surface  of  the  river  held 
up,  in  smooth  places,  a  mirror  to  the  heaven  and  the 
shores.  The  washerwomen  hailed  us  laughingly;  and 
the  noise  of  trees  and  water  made  an  accompaniment  to 
our  dozing  thoughts,  as  we  fleeted  down  the  stream. 

The  great  volume,  the  indefatigable  purpose  of  the 
river,  held  the  mind  in  chain.  It  seemed  now  so  sure 
of  its  end,  so  strong  and  easy  in  its  gait,  like  a  grown 
man  full  of  determination.  The  surf  was  roaring  for  it 
on  the  sands  of  Havre.  For  my  own  part  slipping  along 
this  moving  thoroughfare  in  my  fiddle-case  of  a  canoe, 
I  also  was  beginning  to  grow  aweary  for  my  ocean.  To 
the  civilised  man  there  must  come,  sooner  or  later,  a  de- 
sire for  civilisation.    I  was  weary  of  dipping  the  paddle ; 

134 


BACK  TO  THE  WORLD 

I  was  weary  of  living  on  the  skirts  of  life ;  I  wished  to 
be  in  the  thick  of  it  once  more ;  I  wished  to  get  to  work ; 
I  wished  to  meet  people  who  understood  my  own 
speech,  and  could  meet  with  me  on  equal  terms,  as  a 
man,  and  no  longer  as  a  curiosity. 

And  so  a  letter  at  Pontoise  decided  us,  and  we  drew 
up  our  keels  for  the  last  time  out  of  that  river  of  O^^  that 
had  faithfully  piloted  them,  through  rain  and  sunshine, 
for  so  long.  For  so  many  miles  had  this  fleet  and  foot- 
less beast  of  burden  charioted  our  fortunes  that  we 
turned  our  back  upon  it  with  a  sense  of  separation. 
We  had  a  long  detour  out  of  the  world,  but  now  we 
were  back  in  the  familiar  places,  where  life  itself  makes 
all  the  running,  and  we  are  carried  to  meet  adventure 
without  a  stroke  of  the  paddle.  Now  we  were  to  re- 
turn, like  the  voyager  in  the  play,  and  see  what  rearrange- 
ments fortune  had  perfected  the  while  in  our  surround- 
ings; what  surprises  stood  ready  made  for  us  at  home; 
and  whither  and  how  far  the  world  had  voyaged  in  our 
absence.  You  may  paddle  all  day  long;  but  it  is  when 
you  come  back  at  nightfall,  and  look  in  at  the  familiar 
room,  that  you  find  Love  or  Death  awaiting  you  beside 
the  stove;  and  the  most  beautiful  adventures  are  not 
those  we  go  to  seek. 


135 


TRAVELS  WITH  A  DONKEY 

IN  THE  CAYENNES 


My  dear  Sidney  Colvin, 

The  journey  which  this  little  book  is  to  describe  was  very  agreeable 
and  fortunate  for  me.  After  an  uncouth  beginning,  I  had  the  best  of 
luck  to  the  end.  But  we  are  all  travellers  in  what  John  Bunyan  calls 
the  wilderness  of  this  world,  —  all,  too,  travellers  with  a  donkey;  and 
the  best  that  we  find  in  our  travels  is  an  honest  friend.  He  is  a  fortu- 
nate voyager  who  finds  many.  We  travel,  indeed,  to  find  them. 
They  are  the  end  and  the  reward  of  life.  They  keep  us  worthy  of 
ourselves;  and,  when  we  are  alone,  we  are  only  nearer  to  the  absent. 

Every  book  is,  in  an  intimate  sense,  a  circular  letter  to  the  friends  of 
him  who  writes  it.  They  alone  take  his  meaning;  they  find  private 
messages,  assurances  of  love,  and  expressions  of  gratitude  dropped  for 
them  in  every  corner.  The  public  is  but  a  generous  patron  who  de- 
frays the  postage.  Yet,  though  the  letter  is  directed  to  all,  we  have 
an  old  and  kindly  custom  of  addressing  it  on  the  outside  to  one.  Of 
what  shall  a  man  be  proud,  if  he  is  not  proud  of  his  friends?  And  so, 
my  dear  Sidney  Colvin,  it  is  with  pride  that  I  sign  myself  affection- 
ately yours,  R.  L.  S. 


VELAY 


*•  Many  are  the  mighty  things,  and 
nought  is  more  mighty  than 
man.  .  ,  .  He  masters  by  his 
devices  the  tenant  of  the  fields. " 
— Antigone. 

••  Who  hath  loosed  the  bands  of  the 
wiid  ass  f  "  —  Job. 


VELAY 

THE  DONKEY,  THE  PACK,  AND  THE  PACK-SADDLE 

IN  a  little  place  called  Le  Monastier,  in  a  pleasant  high- 
land valley  fifteen  miles  from  Le  Puy,  I  spent  about 
a  month  of  fine  days.  Monastier  is  notable  for  the  mak- 
ing of  lace,  for  drunkenness,  for  freedom  of  language, 
and  for  unparalleled  political  dissension.  There  are  ad- 
herents of  each  of  the  four  French  parties  —  Legitimists, 
Orleanists,  Imperialists,  and  Republicans  —  in  this  little 
mountain-town;  and  they  all  hate,  loathe,  decry,  and 
calumniate  each  other.  Except  for  business  purposes, 
or  to  give  each  other  the  lie  in  a  tavern  brawl,  they  have 
laid  aside  even  the  civility  of  speech.  '  Tis  a  mere  moun- 
tain Poland.  In  the  midst  of  this  Babylon  I  found  my- 
self a  rallying-point ;  every  one  was  anxious  to  be  kind 
and  helpful  to  the  stranger.  This  was  not  merely  from 
the  natural  hospitality  of  mountain  people,  nor  even  from 
the  surprise  with  which  I  was  regarded  as  a  man  living 
of  his  own  free  will  in  Monastier,  when  he  might  just 
as  well  have  lived  anywhere  else  in  this  big  world ;  it 
arose  a  good  deal  from  my  projected  excursion  south- 
ward through  the  Cevennes.  A  traveller  of  my  sort  was 
a  thing  hitherto  unheard  of  in  that  district.  I  was  looked 
upon  with  contempt,  like  a  man  who  should  project  a 
journey  to  the  moon,  but  yet  with  a  respectful  interest, 

143 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONF^Y 

like  one  setting  forth  for  the  inclement  Pole.  All  were 
ready  to  help  in  my  preparations ;  a  crowd  of  sympathis- 
ers supported  me  at  the  critical  moment  of  a  bargain ; 
not  a  step  was  taken  but  was  heralded  by  glasses  round 
and  celebrated  by  a  dinner  or  a  breakfast. 

It  was  already  hard  upon  October  before  I  was  ready 
to  set  forth,  and  at  the  high  altitudes  over  which  my 
road  lay  there  was  no  Indian  summer  to  be  looked  for. 
I  was  determined,  if  not  to  camp  out,  at  least  to  have  the 
means  of  camping  out  in  my  possession;  for  there  is 
nothing  more  harassing  to  an  easy  mind  than  the  necessity 
of  reaching  shelter  by  dusk,  and  the  hospitality  of  a 
village  inn  is  not  always  to  be  reckoned  sure  by  those 
who  trudge  on  foot.  A  tent,  above  all  for  a  solitary 
traveller,  is  troublesome  to  pitch,  and  troublesome  to 
strike  again ;  and  even  on  the  march  it  forms  a  conspic- 
ous  feature  in  your  baggage.  A  sleeping-sack,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  always  ready — you  have  only  to  get  into 
it ;  it  serves  a  double  purpose  —  a  bed  by  night,  a  port- 
manteau by  day ;  and  it  does  not  advertise  your  intention 
of  camping  out  to  every  curious  passer-by.  This  is  a 
huge  point.  If  the  camp  is  not  secret,  it  is  but  a  troubled 
resting-place;  you  become  a  public  character;  the  con- 
vivial rustic  visits  your  bedside  after  an  early  supper;  and 
you  must  sleep  with  one  eye  open,  and  be  up  before  the 
day.  I  decided  on  a  sleeping-sack ;  and  after  repeated 
visits  to  Le  Puy,  and  a  deal  of  high  living  for  myself  and 
my  advisers,  a  sleeping-sack  was  designed,  constructed, 
and  triumphally  brought  home. 

This  child  of  my  invention  was  nearly  six  feet  square, 
exclusive  of  two  triangular  flaps  to  serve  as  a  pillow  by 
night  and  as  the  top  and  bottom  of  the  sack  by  day.     I 

144 


THE  DONKEY,  THE  PACK,  AND  THE   PACK-SADDLE 

call  it  '*  the  sack,"  but  it  was  never  a  sack  by  more  than 
courtesy:  only  a  sort  of  long  roll  or  sausage,  green 
waterproof  cart  cloth  without  and  blue  sheep's  fur 
within.  It  was  commodious  as  a  valise,  warm  and  dry 
for  a  bed.  There  was  luxurious  turning  room  for  one ; 
and  at  a  pinch  the  thing  might  serve  for  two.  I  could 
bury  myself  in  it  up  to  the  neck ;  for  my  head  I  trusted 
to  a  fur  cap,  with  a  hood  to  fold  down  over  my  ears  and 
a  band  to  pass  under  my  nose  like  a  respirator;  and  in 
case  of  heavy  rain  I  proposed  to  make  myself  a  little 
tent,  or  tentlet,  with  my  waterproof  coat,  three  stones, 
and  a  bent  branch. 

It  will  readily  be  conceived  that  I  could  not  carry  this 
huge  package  on  my  own,  merely  human,  shoulders. 
It  remained  to  choose  a  beast  of  burden.  Now,  a  horse 
is  a  fine  lady  among  animals,  flighty,  timid,  delicate  in 
eating,  of  tender  health ;  he  is  too  valuable  and  too  res- 
tive to  be  left  alone,  so  that  you  are  chained  to  your 
brute  as  to  a  fellow  galley-slave ;  a  dangerous  road  puts 
him  out  of  his  wits ;  in  short,  he's  an  uncertain  and  ex- 
acting ally,  and  adds  thirty-fold  to  the  troubles  of  the 
voyager.  What  I  required  was  something  cheap  and 
small  and  hardy,  and  of  a  stolid  and  peaceful  temper; 
and  all  these  requisites  pointed  to  a  donkey. 

There  dwelt  an  old  man  in  Monastter,  of  rather  un- 
sound intellect  according  to  some,  much  followed  by 
street-boys,  and  known  to  fame  as  Father  Adam.  Father 
Adam  had  a  cart,  and  to  draw  the  cart  a  diminutive  she- 
ass,  not  much  bigger  than  a  dog,  the  color  of  a  mouse, 
with  a  kindly  eye  and  a  determined  under-jaw.  There 
was  something  neat  and  high-bred,  a  quakerish  ele- 
gance, about  the  rogue  that  hit  my  fancy  on  the  spot. 

'45 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

Our  first  interview  was  in  Monastier  market-place.  To 
prove  her  good  temper,  one  child  after  another  was  set 
upon  her  back  to  ride,  and  one  after  another  went  head 
over  heels  into  the  air;  until  a  want  of  confidence  began 
to  reign  in  youthful  bosoms,  and  the  experiment  was 
discontinued  from  a  dearth  of  subjects.  I  was  already 
backed  by  a  deputation  of  my  friends ;  but  as  if  this  were 
not  enough,  all  the  buyers  and  sellers  came  round  and 
helped  me  in  the  bargain ;  and  the  ass  and  I  and  Father 
Adam  were  the  centre  of  a  hubbub  for  near  half  an  hour. 
At  length  she  passed  into  my  service  for  the  considera- 
tion of  sixty-five  francs  and  a  glass  of  brandy.  The  sack 
had  already  cost  eighty  francs  and  two  glasses  of  beer; 
so  that  Modestine,  as  I  instantly  baptised  her,  was  upon 
all  accounts  the  cheaper  article.  Indeed,  that  was  as  it 
should  be;  for  she  was  only  an  appurtenance  of  my 
mattress,  or  self-acting  bedstead  on  four  castors. 

I  had  a  last  interview  with  Father  Adam  in  a  billiard- 
room  at  the  witching  hour  of  dawn,  when  I  adminis- 
tered the  brandy.  He  professed  himself  greatly  touched 
by  the  separation,  and  declared  he  had  often  bought 
white  bread  for  the  donkey  when  he  had  been  content 
with  black  bread  for  himself;  but  this,  according  to  the 
best  authorities,  must  have  been  a  flight  of  fancy.  He 
had  a  name  in  the  village  for  brutally  misusing  the  ass ; 
yet  it  is  certain  that  he  shed  a  tear,  and  the  tear  made  a 
clean  mark  down  one  cheek. 

By  the  advice  of  a  fallacious  local  saddler,  a  leather  pad 
was  made  for  me  with  rings  to  fasten  on  my  bundle; 
and  I  thoughtfully  completed  my  kit  and  arranged  my 
toilette.  By  way  of  armoury  and  utensils,  I  took  a  re- 
volver, a  little  spirit-lamp  and  pan,  a  lantern  and  some 

146 


THE   DONKEY,  THE   PACK,  AND  THE   PACK-SADDLE 

halfpenny  candles,  a  jack-knife  and  a  large  leather  flask. 
The  main  cargo  consisted  of  two  entire  changes  of  warm 
clothing  —  besides  my  travelling  wearof  country  velvet- 
een, pilot-coat,  and  knitted  spencer  —  some  books,  and 
my  railway-rug,  which,  being  also  in  the  form  of  a  bag, 
made  me  a  double  castle  for  cold  nights.  The  perma- 
nent larder  was  represented  by  cakes  of  chocolate  and 
tins  of  Bologna  sausage.  All  this,  except  what  I  carried 
about  my  person,  was  easily  stowed  into  the  sheepskin 
bag;  and  by  good  fortune  I  threw  in  my  empty  knap- 
sack, rather  for  convenience  of  carriage  than  from  any 
thought  that  I  should  want  it  on  my  journey.  For  more 
immediate  needs,  I  took  a  leg  of  cold  mutton,  a  bottle 
of  Beaujolais,  an  empty  bottle  to  carry  milk,  an  egg- 
beater,  and  a  considerable  quantity  of  black  bread  and 
white,  like  Father  Adam,  for  myself  and  donkey,  only 
in  my  scheme  of  things  the  destinations  were  reversed. 
Monastrians,  of  all  shades  of  thought  in  politics,  had 
agreed  in  threatening  me  with  many  ludicrous  misad- 
ventures, and  with  sudden  death  in  many  surprising 
forms.  Cold,  wolves,  robbers,  above  all  the  nocturnal 
practical  joker,  were  daily  and  eloquently  forced  on  my 
attention.  Yet  in  these  vaticinations,  the  true,  patent 
danger  was  left  out.  Like  Christian,  it  was  from  my 
pack  1  suffered  by  the  way.  Before  telling  my  own 
mishaps,  let  me,  in  two  words,  relate  the  lesson  of  my 
experience.  If  the  pack  is  well  strapped  at  the  ends, 
and  hung  at  full  length  —  not  doubled,  for  your  life  — 
across  the  pack-saddle,  the  traveller  is  safe.  The  saddle 
will  certainly  not  fit,  such  is  the  imperfection  of  our 
transitory  life ;  it  will  assuredly  topple  and  tend  to  over- 
set; but  there  are  stones  on  every  roadside,  and  a  man 

147 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

soon  learns  the  art  of  correcting  any  tendency  to  over- 
balance with  a  well-adjusted  stone. 

On  the  day  of  my  departure  I  was  up  a  little  after  five ; 
by  six,  we  began  to  load  the  donkey ;  and  ten  minutes 
after,  my  hopes  were  in  the  dust.  The  pad  would  not 
stay  on  Modesttne's  back  for  half  a  moment.  I  returned 
it  to  its  maker,  with  whom  I  had  so  contumelious  a 
passage  that  the  street  outside  was  crowded  from  wall 
to  wall  with  gossips  looking  on  and  listening.  The  pad 
changed  hands  with  much  vivacity ;  perhaps  it  would 
be  more  descriptive  to  say  that  we  threw  it  at  each 
other's  heads ;  and,  at  any  rate,  we  were  very  warm  and 
unfriendly,  and  spoke  with  a  deal  of  freedom. 

I  had  a  common  donkey  pack-saddle  —  a  harde,  as 
they  call  it — -fitted  upon  Modcstine;  and  once  more 
loaded  her  with  my  effects.  The  doubled  sack,  my 
pilot-coat  (for  it  was  warm,  and  I  was  to  walk  in  my 
waistcoat),  a  great  bar  of  black  bread,  and  an  open 
basket  containing  the  white  bread,  the  mutton,  and  the 
bottles,  were  all  corded  together  in  a  very  elaborate  sys- 
tem of  knots,  and  I  looked  on  the  result  with  fatuous 
content.  In  such  a  monstrous  deck-cargo,  all  poised 
above  the  donkey's  shoulders,  with  nothing  below  to 
balance,  on  a  brand-new  pack-saddle  that  had  not  yet 
been  worn  to  fit  the  animal,  and  fastened  with  brand- 
new  girths  that  might  be  expected  to  stretch  and  slacken 
by  the  way,  even  a  very  careless  traveller  should  have 
seen  disaster  brewing.  That  elaborate  system  of  knots, 
again,  was  the  work  of  too  many  sympathisers  to  be 
very  artfully  designed.  It  is  true  they  tightened  the 
cords  with  a  will ;  as  many  as  three  at  a  time  would 
have  a  foot  against  Modcstine' s  quarters,  and  be  hauling 

148 


THE   DONKEY,  THE  PACK,  AND  THE  PACK-SADDLE 

with  clenched  teeth ;  but  I  learned  afterwards  that  one 
thoughtful  person,  without  any  exercise  of  force,  can 
make  a  more  solid  job  than  half  a  dozen  heated  and  en- 
thusiastic grooms.  I  was  then  but  a  novice ;  even  after 
the  misadventure  of  the  pad  nothing  could  disturb  my 
security,  and  1  went  forth  from  the  stable-door  as  an  ox 
goeth  to  the  slaughter. 


149 


THE  GREEN  DONKEY-DRIVER 

The  bell  of  Monastier  was  just  striking  nine  as  I  got 
quit  of  these  preliminary  troubles  and  descended  the  hill 
through  the  common.  As  long  as  I  was  within  sight  of 
the  windows,  a  secret  shame  and  the  fear  of  some  laugh- 
able defeat  withheld  me  from  tampering  with  Modestine. 
She  tripped  along  upon  her  four  small  hoofs  with  a  sober 
daintiness  of  gait;  from  time  to  time  she  shook  her  ears 
or  her  tail ;  and  she  looked  so  small  under  the  bundle  that 
my  mind  misgave  me.  We  got  across  the  ford  without 
difficulty  —  there  was  no  doubt  about  the  matter,  she 
was  docility  itself —  and  once  on  the  other  bank,  where 
the  road  begins  to  mount  through  pine-woods,  I  took  in 
my  right  hand  the  unhallowed  staff,  and  with  a  quaking 
spirit  applied  it  to  the  donkey.  Modestine  brisked  up 
her  pace  for  perhaps  three  steps,  and  then  relapsed  into 
her  former  minuet.  Another  application  had  the  same 
effect,  and  so  with  the  third.  I  am  worthy  the  name  of 
an  Englishman,  and  it  goes  against  my  conscience  to  lay 
my  hand  rudely  on  a  female.  I  desisted,  and  looked  her 
all  over  from  head  to  foot;  the  poor  brute's  knees  were 
trembling  and  her  breathing  was  distressed ;  it  was  plain 
that  she  could  go  no  faster  on  a  hill.  God  forbid,  thought 
I,  that  I  should  brutalise  this  innocent  creature;  let  her 
go  at  her  own  pace,  and  let  me  patiently  follow. 

150 


THE   GREEN   DONKEY-DRIVER 

What  that  pace  was,  there  is  no  word  mean  enough 
to  describe;  it  was  something  as  much  slower  than  a 
walk  as  a  walk  is  slower  than  a  run ;  it  kept  me  hang- 
ing on  each  foot  for  an  incredible  length  of  time;  in  five 
minutes  it  exhausted  the  spirit  and  set  up  a  fever  in  all 
the  muscles  of  the  leg.  And  yet  I  had  to  keep  close  at 
hand  and  measure  my  advance  exactly  upon  hers ;  for  if  I 
dropped  a  few  yards  into  the  rear,  or  went  on  a  few  yards 
ahead,  Modestine  came  instantly  to  a  halt  and  began  to 
browse,  The  thought  that  this  was  to  last  from  here  to 
Alais  nearly  broke  my  heart.  Of  all  conceivable  jour- 
neys, this  promised  to  be  the  most  tedious.  I  tried  to 
tell  myself  it  was  a  lovely  day;  I  tried  to  charm  my 
foreboding  spirit  with  tobacco ;  but  I  had  a  vision  ever 
present  to  me  of  the  long,  long  roads,  up  hill  and  down 
dale,  and  a  pair  of  figures  ever  infmitesimally  moving, 
foot  by  foot,  a  yard  to  the  minute,  and,  like  things  en- 
chanted in  a  nightmare,  approaching  no  nearer  to  the 
goal. 

In  the  mean  time  there  came  up  behind  us  a  tall  peas- 
ant, perhaps  forty  years  of  age,  of  an  ironical  snuffy 
countenance,  and  arrayed  in  the  green  tail-coat  of  the 
country.  He  overtook  us  hand  over  hand,  and  stopped 
to  consider  our  pitiful  advance. 

"  Your  donkey,"  says  he,  '* is  very  old  } " 

I  told  him,  I  believed  not. 

Then,  he  supposed,  we  had  come  far. 

I  told  him,  we  had  but  newly  left  Monmtier. 

"  Etvous marches  comme  ^a!  "  cried  he;  and,  throw- 
ing back  his  head,  he  laughed  long  and  heartily.  I 
watched  him,  half  prepared  to  feel  offended,  until  he  had 
satisfied  his  mirth;  and  then,  ''You  must  have  no  pity 

151 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

on  these  animals,"  said  he;  and,  plucking  a  switch  out 
of  a  thicket,  he  began  to  lace  Modestine  about  the  stern- 
works,  uttering  a  cry.  The  rogue  pricked  up  her  ears 
and  broke  into  a  good  round  pace,  which  she  kept  up 
without  flagging,  and  without  exhibiting  the  least  symp- 
tom of  distress,  as  long  as  the  peasant  kept  beside  us. 
Her  former  panting  and  shaking  had  been,  I  regret  to 
say,  a  piece  of  comedy. 

My  deu8  ex  machina,  before  he  left  me,  supplied  some 
excellent,  if  inhumane,  advice ;  presented  me  with  the 
switch,  which  he  declared  she  would  feel  more  tenderly 
than  my  cane ;  and  finally  taught  me  the  true  cry  or  ma- 
sonic word  of  donkey-drivers,  **  Proot!  "  All  the  time, 
he  regarded  me  with  a  comical  incredulous  air,  which 
was  embarrassing  to  confront;  and  smiled  over  my 
donkey-driving,  as  I  might  have  smiled  over  his  orthog- 
raphy, or  his  green  tail-coat.  But  it  was  not  my  turn 
for  the  moment. 

I  was  proud  of  my  new  lore,  and  thought  I  had  learned 
the  art  to  perfection.  And  certainly  Modestine  did  won- 
ders for  the  rest  of  the  forenoon,  and  I  had  a  breathing 
space  to  look  about  me.  It  was  Sabbath ;  the  mountain- 
fields  were  all  vacant  in  the  sunshine ;  and  as  we  came 
down  through  St  Martin  de  Frugeres,  the  church  was 
crowded  to  the  door,  there  were  people  kneeling  with- 
out upon  the  steps,  and  the  sound  of  the  priest's  chant- 
ing came  forth  out  of  the  dim  interior.  It  gave  me  a 
home  feeling  on  the  spot ;  for  I  am  a  countryman  of  the 
Sabbath,  so  to  speak,  and  all  Sabbath  observances,  like 
a  Scotch  accent,  strike  in  me  mixed  feelings,  grateful 
and  the  reverse.  It  is  only  a  traveller,  hurrying  by  like 
a  person  from  another  planet,  who  can  rightly  enjoy  the 

152 


THE  GREEN   DONKEY-DRIVER 

peace  and  beauty  of  the  great  ascetic  feast.  The  sight 
of  the  resting  country  does  his  spirit  good.  There  is 
something  better  than  music  in  the  wide  unusual  silence; 
and  it  disposes  him  to  amiable  thoughts,  like  the  sound 
of  a  little  river  or  the  warmth  of  sunlight. 

In  this  pleasant  humour  I  came  down  the  hill  to  where 
GoudetstsLuds  in  the  green  end  of  a  valley,  with  Chdteau 
Beaufort  opposite  upon  a  rocky  steep,  and  the  stream, 
as  clear  as  crystal,  lying  in  a  deep  pool  between  them. 
Above  and  below,  you  may  hear  it  wimpling  over  the 
stones,  an  amiable  stripling  of  a  river,  which  it  seems  ab- 
surd to  call  the  Loire.  On  all  sides,  Goudet  is  shut  in  by 
mountains ;  rocky  footpaths,  practicable  at  best  for  don- 
keys, join  it  to  the  outer  world  of  France;  and  the  men  and 
women  drink  and  swear,  in  their  green  corner,  or  look  up 
at  the  snow-clad  peaks  in  winter  from  the  threshold  of 
their  homes,  in  an  isolation,  you  would  think,  like  that 
of  Homer's  Cyclops.  But  it  is  not  so;  the  postman 
reaches  Goudet  ^\X\\  the  letter-bag;  the  aspiring  youth 
of  Goudet  are  within  a  day's  walk  of  the  railway  at  Le 
Puy ;  and  here  in  the  inn  you  may  find  an  engraved 
portrait  of  the  host's  nephew,  Regis  Senac,  "  Professor 
of  Fencing  and  Champion  of  the  two  Americas/*  a.  dis- 
tinction gained  by  him,  along  with  the  sum  of  five  hun- 
dred dollars,  at  Tammany  Hall,  New  York,  on  the  loth 
April,  1876. 

I  hurried  over  my  midday  meal,  and  was  early  forth 
again.  But,  alas,  as  we  climbed  the  interminable  hill 
upon  the  other  side,  *'Proot!"  seemed  to  have  lost  its 
virtue.  I  prooted  like  a  lion,  I  prooted  mellifluously  like 
a  sucking-dove ;  but  Modestine  would  be  neither  soft- 
ened nor  intimidated.     She  held  doggedly  to  her  pace; 

153 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

nothing  but  a  blow  would  move  her,  and  that  only  for  a 
second.  I  must  follow  at  her  heels,  incessantly  bela- 
bouring. A  moment's  pause  in  this  ignoble  toil,  and 
she  relapsed  into  her  own  private  gait.  1  think  1  never 
heard  of  any  one  in  as  mean  a  situation.  I  must  reach 
the  lake  of  Bouchet,  where  I  meant  to  camp,  before  sun- 
down, and,  to  have  even  a  hope  of  this,  1  must  instantly 
maltreat  this  uncomplaining  animal.  The  sound  of  my 
own  blows  sickened  me.  Once,  when  I  looked  at  her, 
she  had  a  faint  resemblance  to  a  lady  of  my  acquaint- 
ance who  formerly  loaded  me  with  kindness ;  and  this 
increased  my  horror  of  my  cruelty. 

To  make  matters  worse,  we  encountered  another 
donkey,  ranging  at  will  upon  the  roadside;  and  this 
other  donkey  chanced  to  be  a  gentleman.  He  and  Mo- 
destine  met  nickering  for  joy,  and  I  had  to  separate  the 
pair  and  beat  down  their  young  romance  with  a  renewed 
and  feverish  bastinado.  If  the  other  donkey  had  had 
the  heart  of  a  male  under  his  hide,  he  would  have  fallen 
upon  me  tooth  and  hoof;  and  this  was  a  kind  of  conso- 
lation—  he  was  plainly  unworthy  of  Modestine's  affec- 
tion. But  the  incident  saddened  me,  as  did  everything 
that  spoke  of  my  donkey's  sex. 

It  was  blazing  hot  up  the  valley,  windless,  with  vehe- 
ment sun  upon  my  shoulders ;  and  I  had  to  labour  so  con- 
sistently with  my  stick  that  the  sweat  ran  into  my  eyes. 
Every  five  minutes,  too,  the  pack,  the  basket,  and  the 
pilot-coat  would  take  an  ugly  slew  to  one  side  or  the 
other;  and  I  had  to  stop  Modestine,  just  when  I  had  got 
her  to  a  tolerable  pace  of  about  two  miles  an  hour,  to 
tug,  push,  shoulder,  and  readjust  the  load.  And  at 
last,  in  the  village  of  Ussel,  saddle  and  all,  the  whole 

154 


THE  GREEN   DONKEY-DRIVER 

hypothec  turned  round  and  grovelled  in  the  dust  below 
the  donkey's  belly.  She,  none  better  pleased,  inconti- 
nently drew  up  and  seemed  to  smile;  and  a  party  of  one 
man,  two  women,  and  two  children  came  up,  and, 
standing  round  me  in  a  half-circle,  encouraged  her  by 
their  example. 

I  had  the  devil's  own  trouble  to  get  the  thing  righted; 
and  the  instant  I  had  done  so,  without  hesitation,  it 
toppled  and  fell  down  upon  the  other  side.  Judge  if  I 
was  hot!  And  yet  not  a  hand  was  offered  to  assist  me. 
The  man,  indeed,  told  me  I  ought  to  have  a  package  of 
a  different  shape.  I  suggested,  if  he  knew  nothing  bet- 
ter to  the  point  in  my  predicament,  he  might  hold  his 
tongue.  And  the  good-natured  dog  agreed  with  me 
smilingly.  It  was  the  most  despicable  fix.  I  must 
plainly  content  myself  with  the  pack  for  Modesttne,  and 
take  the  following  items  for  my  own  share  of  the 
portage:  a  cane,  a  quart  flask,  a  pilot-jacket  heavily 
weighted  in  the  pockets,  two  pounds  of  black  bread, 
and  an  open  basket  full  of  meats  and  bottles.  I  believe 
I  may  say  I  am  not  devoid  of  greatness  of  soul ;  for  I 
did  not  recoil  from  this  infamous  burden.  I  disposed 
it,  Heaven  knows  how,  so  as  to  be  mildly  portable,  and 
then  proceeded  to  steer  Modesttne  through  the  village. 
She  tried,  as  was  indeed  her  invariable  habit,  to  enter 
every  house  and  every  courtyard  in  the  whole  length ; 
and,  encumbered  as  I  was,  without  a  hand  to  help  my- 
self, no  words  can  render  an  idea  of  my  difficulties.  A 
priest,  with  six  or  seven  others,  was  examining  a  church 
in  process  of  repair,  and  he  and  his  acolytes  laughed 
loudly  as  they  saw  my  plight.  I  remembered  having 
laughed  myself  when  I  had  seen  good  men  struggling 

'55 


TRAVELS  WITH   A  DONKEY 

with  adversity  in  the  person  of  a  jackass,  and  the  recol* 
lection  filled  me  with  penitence.  That  was  in  my  old 
light  days,  before  this  trouble  came  upon  me.  God 
knows  at  least  that  I  shall  never  laugh  again,  thought  I. 
But  O,  what  a  cruel  thing  is  a  farce  to  those  engaged  in 
it! 

A  little  out  of  the  village,  Modestine,  filled  with  the 
demon,  set  her  heart  upon  a  by-road,  and  positively  re- 
fused to  leave  it.  I  dropped  all  my  bundles,  and,  1  am 
ashamed  to  say,  struck  the  poor  sinner  twice  across  the 
face.  It  was  pitiful  to  see  her  lift  up  her  head  with  shut 
eyes,  as  if  waiting  for  another  blow.  I  came  very  near 
crying ;  but  I  did  a  wiser  thing  than  that,  and  sat  squarely 
down  by  the  roadside  to  consider  my  situation  under 
the  cheerful  influence  of  tobacco  and  a  nip  of  brandy. 
Modestine,  in  the  mean  while,  munched  some  black 
bread  with  a  contrite  hypocritical  air.  It  was  plain  that 
I  must  make  a  sacrifice  to  the  gods  of  shipwreck.  I 
threw  away  the  empty  bottle  destined  to  carry  milk ;  I 
threw  away  my  own  white  bread,  and,  disdaining  to 
act  by  general  average,  kept  the  black  bread  for  Modes- 
tine;  lastly,  I  threw  away  the  cold  leg  of  mutton  and 
the  egg-whisk,  although  this  last  was  dear  to  my  heart. 
Thus  I  found  room  for  everything  in  the  basket,  and 
even  stowed  the  boating-coat  on  the  top.  By  means 
of  an  end  of  cord  I  slung  it  under  one  arm ;  and  although 
the  cord  cut  my  shoulder,  and  the  jacket  hung  almost  to 
the  ground,  it  was  with  a  heart  greatly  lightened  that  I 
set  forth  again. 

I  had  now  an  arm  free  to  thrash  Modestine,  and  cru- 
elly I  chastised  her.  If  I  were  to  reach  the  lakeside  be- 
fore dark,  she  must  bestir  her  little  shanks  to  some  tune. 

156 


THE  GREEN   DONKEY-DRIVER 

Already  the  sun  had  gone  down  into  a  windy-looking 
mist ;  and  although  there  were  still  a  few  streaks  of  gold 
far  off  to  the  east  on  the  hills  and  the  black  fir-woods, 
all  was  cold  and  gray  about  our  onward  path.  An  in- 
finity of  little  country  by-roads  led  hither  and  thither 
among  the  fields.  It  was  the  most  pointless  labyrinth. 
I  could  see  my  destination  overhead,  or  rather  the  peak 
that  dominates  it;  but  choose  as  I  pleased,  the  roads  al- 
ways ended  by  turning  away  from  it,  and  sneaking  back 
towards  the  valley,  or  northward  along  the  margin  of 
the  hills.  The  failing  light,  the  waning  colour,  the  naked, 
unhomely,  stony  country  through  which  I  was  travel- 
ling, threw  me  into  some  despondency.  I  promise  you, 
the  stick  was  not  idle;  I  think  every  decent  step  that 
Modestine  took  must  have  cost  me  at  least  two  emphatic 
blows.  There  was  not  another  sound  in  the  neighbour- 
hood but  that  of  my  unwearying  bastinado. 

Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  my  toils,  the  load  once 
more  bit  the  dust,  and,  as  by  enchantment,  all  the  cords 
were  simultaneously  loosened,  and  the  road  scattered 
with  my  dear  possessions.  The  packing  was  to  begin 
again  from  the  beginning ;  and  as  I  had  to  invent  a  new 
and  better  system,  I  do  not  doubt  but  I  lost  half  an  hour. 
It  began  to  be  dusk  in  earnest  as  I  reached  a  wilderness 
of  turf  and  stones.  It  had  the  air  of  being  a  road  which 
should  lead  everywhere  at  the  same  time;  and  I  was 
falling  into  something  not  unlike  despair  when  I  saw 
two  figures  stalking  towards  me  over  the  stones.  They 
walked  one  behind  the  other  like  tramps,  but  their  pace 
was  remarkable.  The  son  led  the  way,  a  tall,  ill-made, 
sombre,  Scotch-looking  man ;  the  mother  followed,  all 
in  her  Sunday's  best,  with  an  elegantly-embroidered 

157 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

ribbon  to  her  cap,  and  a  new  felt  hat  atop,  and  proffer- 
ing, as  she  strode  along  with  kilted  petticoats,  a  string 
of  obscene  and  blasphemous  oaths. 

I  hailed  the  son  and  asked  him  my  direction.  He 
pointed  loosely  west  and  north-west,  muttered  an  inau- 
dible comment,  and,  without  slacking  his  pace  for  an 
instant,  stalked  on,  as  he  was  going,  right  athwart  my 
path.  The  mother  followed  without  so  much  as  rais- 
ing her  head.  I  shouted  and  shouted  after  them,  but 
they  continued  to  scale  the  hillside,  and  turned  a  deaf 
ear  to  my  outcries.  At  last,  leaving  Modestine  by  her- 
self, I  was  constrained  to  run  after  them,  hailing  the 
while.  They  stopped  as  I  drew  near,  the  mother  still 
cursing;  and  I  could  see  she  was  a  handsome,  motherly, 
respectable-looking  woman.  The  son  once  more  an- 
swered me  roughly  and  inaudibly,  and  was  for  setting 
out  again.  But  this  time  I  simply  collared  the  mother, 
who  was  nearest  me,  and,  apologising  for  my  violence, 
declared  that  I  could  not  let  them  go  until  they  had  put 
me  on  my  road.  They  were  neither  of  them  offended 
—  rather  mollified  than  otherwise ;  told  me  I  had  only 
to  follow  them ;  and  then  the  mother  asked  me  what  I 
wanted  by  the  lake  at  such  an  hour.  I  replied,  in  the 
Scotch  manner,  by  inquiring  if  she  had  far  to  go  her- 
self. She  told  me,  with  another  oath,  that  she  had  an 
hour  and  a  half  s  road  before  her.  And  then,  without 
salutation,  the  pair  strode  forward  again  up  the  hillside 
in  the  gathering  dusk. 

I  returned  for  Modestine,  pushed  her  briskly  forward, 
and,  after  a  sharp  ascent  of  twenty  minutes,  reached  the 
edge  of  a  plateau.  The  view,  looking  back  on  my  day's 
journey,  was  both  wild  and  sad.   Mount  M^^enc  and  the 

158 


THE  GREEN   DONKEY-DRIVER 

peaks  beyond  St.  Julien  stood  out  in  trenchant  gloom 
against  a  cold  glitter  in  the  east ;  and  the  intervening  field 
of  hills  had  fallen  together  into  one  broad  wash  of  shadow, 
except  here  and  there  the  outline  of  a  wooded  sugar-loaf 
in  black,  here  and  there  a  white  irregular  patch  to  rep- 
resent a  cultivated  farm,  and  here  and  there  a  blot  where 
the  Loire,  the  Ga:(eille,  or  the  Lausonne  wandered  in  a 
gorge. 

Soon  we  were  on  a  high-road,  and  surprise  seized  on 
my  mind  as  I  beheld  a  village  of  some  magnitude  close 
at  hand;  for  I  had  been  told  that  the  neighbourhood  of 
the  lake  was  uninhabited  except  by  trout.  The  road 
smoked  in  the  twilight  with  children  driving  home 
cattle  from  the  fields;  and  a  pair  of  mounted  stride- 
legged  women,  hat  and  cap  and  all,  dashed  past  me  at 
a  hammering  trot  from  the  canton  where  they  had  been 
to  church  and  market.  I  asked  one  of  the  children  where 
I  was.  At  Bouchet  St.  Nicolas,  he  told  me.  Thither, 
about  a  mile  south  of  my  destination,  and  on  the  other 
side  of  a  respectable  summit,  had  these  confused  roads 
and  treacherous  peasantry  conducted  me.  My  shoulder 
was  cut,  so  that  it  hurt  sharply ;  my  arm  ached  like  tooth- 
ache from  perpetual  beating;  I  gave  up  the  lake  and  my 
design  to  camp,  and  asked  for  the  auberge. 


>59 


I  HAVE  A  GOAD 

The  auherge  of  Boucbet  St  Nicolas  was  among  the  least 
pretentious  I  have  ever  visited;  but  I  saw  many  more  of 
the  like  upon  my  journey.  Indeed,  it  was  typical  of 
these  French  highlands.  Imagine  a  cottage  of  two  stories, 
with  a  bench  before  the  door;  the  stable  and  kitchen  in  a 
suite,  so  that  Modestine  and  I  could  hear  each  other  din- 
ing; furniture  of  the  plainest,  earthen  floors,  a  single  bed- 
chamber for  travellers,  and  that  without  any  convenience 
but  beds.  In  the  kitchen  cooking  and  eating  go  forward 
side  by  side,  and  the  family  sleep  at  night.  Any  one 
who  has  a  fancy  to  wash  must  do  so  in  public  at  the 
common  table.  The  food  is  sometimes  spare ;  hard  fish 
and  omelette  have  been  my  portion  more  than  once ;  the 
wine  is  of  the  smallest,  the  brandy  abominable  to  man ; 
and  the  visit  of  a  fat  sow,  grouting  under  the  table  and 
rubbing  against  your  legs,  is  no  impossible  accompani- 
ment to  dinner. 

But  the  people  of  the  inn,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten, 
show  themselves  friendly  and  considerate.  As  soon  as 
you  cross  the  doors  you  cease  to  be  a  stranger;  and  al- 
though this  peasantry  are  rude  and  forbidding  on  the 
highway,  they  show  a  tincture  of  kind  breeding  when 
you  share  their  hearth.     At  Boucbet,  for  instance,  I  un- 

160 


I   HAVE  A   GOAD 

corked  my  bottle  of  Beaujolais,  and  asked  the  host  to 
join  me.     He  would  take  but  little. 

* '  I  am  an  amateur  of  such  wine,  do  you  see  ?  "  he  said, 
'*and  I  am  capable  of  leaving  you  not  enough." 

In  these  hedge-inns  the  traveller  is  expected  to  eat 
with  his  own  knife;  unless  he  ask,  no  other  will  be 
supplied :  with  a  glass,  a  whang  of  bread,  and  an  iron 
fork,  the  table  is  completely  laid.  My  knife  was  cor- 
dially admired  by  the  landlord  of  Bouchet,  and  the  spring 
filled  him  with  wonder. 

**  I  should  never  have  guessed  that,"  he  said.  **  I 
would  bet,"  he  added,  weighing  it  in  his  hand,  "that 
this  cost  you  not  less  than  five  francs." 

When  I  told  him  it  had  cost  me  twenty,  his  jaw 
dropped. 

He  was  a  mild,  handsome,  sensible,  friendly  old  man, 
astonishingly  ignorant.  His  wife,  who  was  not  so 
pleasant  in  her  manners,  knew  how  to  read,  although 
I  do  not  suppose  she  ever  did  so.  She  had  a  share  of 
brains  and  spoke  with  a  cutting  emphasis,  like  one  who 
ruled  the  roast. 

'*My  man  knows  nothing,"  she  said,  with  an  angry 
nod;  "he  is  like  the  beasts." 

And  the  old  gentleman  signified  acquiescence  with 
his  head.  There  was  no  contempt  on  her  part,  and  no 
shame  on  his ;  the  facts  were  accepted  loyally,  and  no 
more  about  the  matter. 

I  was  tightly  cross-examined  about  my  journey;  and 
the  lady  understood  in  a  moment,  and  sketched  out 
what  I  should  put  into  my  book  when  I  got  home. 
"Whether  people  harvest  or  not  in  such  or  such  a  place; 
if  there  were  forests ;  studies  of  manners ;  what,  for  ex- 

i6i 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

ample,  I  and  the  master  of  the  house  say  to  you;  the 
beauties  of  Nature,  and  all  that."  And  she  interrogated 
me  with  a  look. 

'Mt  is  just  that,"  said  I. 

**  You  see,"  she  added  to  her  husband,  *'I  understood 
that." 

They  were  both  much  interested  by  the  story  of  my 
misadventures. 

"In  the  morning,"  said  the  husband,  *'I  will  make 
you  something  better  than  your  cane.  Such  a  beast  as 
that  feels  nothing;  it  is  in  the  proverb  —  dtir  comma  un 
dne;  you  might  beat  her  insensible  with  a  cudgel,  and 
yet  you  would  arrive  nowhere." 

Something  better!  I  little  knew  what  he  was  offering. 

The  sleeping-room  was  furnished  with  two  beds.  I 
had  one;  and  I  will  own  1  was  a  little  abashed  to  find  a 
young  man  and  his  wife  and  child  in  the  act  of  mount- 
ing into  the  other.  This  was  my  first  experience  of  the 
sort ;  and  if  I  am  always  to  feel  equally  silly  and  extra- 
neous, I  pray  God  it  be  my  last  as  well.  I  kept  my  eyes 
to  myself,  and  know  nothing  of  the  woman  except  that 
she  had  beautiful  arms,  and  seemed  no  whit  abashed  by 
my  appearance.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  situation  was 
more  trying  to  me  than  to  the  pair.  A  pair  keep  each 
other  in  countenance ;  it  is  the  single  gentleman  who  has 
to  blush.  But  I  could  not  help  attributing  my  senti- 
ments to  the  husband,  and  sought  to  conciliate  his  tol- 
erance with  a  cup  of  brandy  from  my  flask.  He  told 
me  that  he  was  a  cooper  of  Alais  travelling  to  St. 
Etienne  in  search  of  work,  and  that  in  his  spare  mo- 
ments he  followed  the  fatal  calling  of  a  maker  of  matches. 
Me  he  readily  enough  divined  to  be  a  brandy  merchant. 

162 


I   HAVE   A   GOAD 

I  was  up  first  in  the  morning  {Monday,  September 
2jd),  and  hastened  my  toilet  guiltily,  so  as  to  leave  a 
clear  field  for  madam,  the  cooper's  wife.  I  drank  a  bowl 
of  milk,  and  set  off  to  explore  the  neighbourhood  of 
Bouchet.  It  was  perishing  cold,  a  gray,  windy,  wintry 
morning;  misty  clouds  flew  fast  and  low  ;  the  wind 
piped  over  the  naked  platform ;  and  the  only  speck  of 
colour  was  away  behind  Mount  Me^enc  and  the  eastern 
hills,  where  the  sky  still  wore  the  orange  of  the  dawn. 

It  was  five  in  the  morning,  and  four  thousand  feet 
above  the  sea;  and  I  had  to  bury  my  hands  in  my  pockets 
and  trot.  People  were  trooping  out  to  the  labours  of  the 
field  by  twos  and  threes,  and  all  turned  round  to  stare 
upon  the  stranger.  I  had  seen  them  coming  back  last 
night,  I  saw  them  going  afield  again ;  and  there  was  the 
life  oi  Bouchet  in  a  nutshell. 

When  I  came  back  to  the  inn  for  a  bit  of  breakfast,  the 
landlady  was  in  the  kitchen  combing  out  her  daughter's 
hair;  and  I  made  her  my  compliments  upon  its  beauty. 

**0  no,"  said  the  mother;  ''it  is  not  so  beautiful  as 
it  ought  to  be.     Look,  it  is  too  fine." 

Thus  does  a  wise  peasantry  console  itself  under  ad- 
verse physical  circumstances,  and,  by  a  startling  demo- 
cratic process,  the  defects  of  the  majority  decide  the  type 
of  beauty. 

"And  where,"  said  I,  "is  monsieur?" 

"The  master  of  the  house  is  up-stairs,"  she  answered, 
"  making  you  a  goad." 

Blessed  be  the  man  who  invented  goads  !  Blessed 
the  innkeeper  of  Bouchet  St.  Nicolas,  who  introduced 
me  to  their  use!  This  plain  wand,  with  an  eighth  of 
an  inch  of  pin,  was  indeed  a  sceptre  when  he  put  it 

163 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

in  my  hands.  Thenceforward  Modestine  was  my  slave. 
A  prick,  and  she  passed  the  most  inviting  stable- 
door.  A  prick,  and  she  broke  forth  into  a  gallant  little 
trotlet  that  devoured  the  miles.  It  was  not  a  remarkable 
speed,  when  all  was  said ;  and  we  took  four  hours  to 
cover  ten  miles  at  the  best  of  it.  But  what  a  heavenly 
change  since  yesterday!  No  more  wielding  of  the  ugly 
cudgel ;  no  more  flailing  with  an  aching  arm ;  no  more 
broadsword  exercise,  but  a  discreet  and  gentlemanly 
fence.  And  what  although  now  and  then  a  drop  of 
blood  should  appear  on  Modestine's  mouse-colored 
wedge-like  rump .?  I  should  have  preferred  it  other- 
wise, indeed;  but  yesterday's  exploits  had  purged  my 
heart  of  all  humanity.  The  perverse  little  devil,  since 
she  would  not  be  taken  with  kindness,  must  even  go 
with  pricking. 

It  was  bleak  and  bitter  cold,  and,  except  a  cavalcade 
of  stride-legged  ladies  and  a  pair  of  post-runners,  the 
road  was  dead  solitary  all  the  way  to  Pradelles.  I  scarce 
remember  an  incident  but  one.  A  handsome  foal  with 
a  bell  about  his  neck  came  charging  up  to  us  upon  a 
stretch  of  common,  sniffed  the  air  martially  as  one  about 
to  do  great  deeds,  and,  suddenly  thinking  otherwise  in 
his  green  young  heart,  put  about  and  galloped  off  as  he 
had  come,  the  bell  tinkling  in  the  wind.  For  a  long 
while  afterwards  I  saw  his  noble  attitude  as  he  drew  up, 
and  heard  the  note  of  his  bell;  and  when  I  struck  the 
high-road,  the  song  of  the  telegraph-wires  seemed  to 
continue  the  same  music. 

Pradelles  stands  on  a  hillside,  high  above  the  A  liter, 
surrounded  by  rich  meadows.  They  were  cutting  after- 
math on  all  sides,  which  gave  the  neighbourhood,  this 

164 


I   HAVE  A   GOAD 

gusty  autumn  morning,  an  untimely  smell  of  hay.  On 
the  opposite  bank  of  the  Allier  the  land  kept  mounting 
for  miles  to  the  horizon :  a  tanned  and  sallow  autumn 
landscape,  with  black  blots  of  fir-wood  and  white  roads 
wandering  through  the  hills.  Over  all  this  the  clouds 
shed  a  uniform  and  purplish  shadow,  sad  and  somewhat 
menacing,  exaggerating  height  and  distance,  and  throw- 
ing into  still  higher  relief  the  twisted  ribbons  of  the  high- 
way. It  was  a  cheerless  prospect,  but  one  stimulating 
to  a  traveller.  For  I  was  now  upon  the  limit  of  Velay, 
and  all  that  I  beheld  lay  in  another  county  —  wild  Ge- 
vaudan,  mountainous,  uncultivated,  and  but  recently 
disforested  from  terror  of  the  wolves. 

Wolves,  alas,  like  bandits,  seem  to  flee  the  traveller's 
advance ;  and  you  may  trudge  through  all  our  comfort- 
able Europe,  and  not  meet  with  an  adventure  worth  the 
name.  But  here,  if  anywhere,  a  man  was  on  the  fron- 
tiers of  hope.  For  this  was  the  land  of  the  ever-memor- 
able Beast,  the  Napoleon  'Buonaparte  of  wolves.  What 
a  career  was  his !  He  lived  ten  months  at  free  quarters 
in  Ghaudan  and  Vivarah;  he  ate  women  and  children 
and  **  shepherdesses  celebrated  for  their  beauty ;"  he  pur- 
sued armed  horsemen ;  he  has  been  seen  at  broad  noon- 
day chasing  a  post-chaise  and  outrider  along  the  king's 
high-road,  and  chaise  and  outrider  fleeing  before  him  at 
the  gallop.  He  was  placarded  like  a  political  offender, 
and  ten  thousand  francs  were  offered  for  his  head.  And 
yet,  when  he  was  shot  and  sent  to  Versailles,  behold !  a 
common  wolf,  and  even  small  for  that.  "Though  I 
could  reach  from  pole  to  pole,"  sang  Alexander  Pope; 
the  little  corporal  shook  Europe;  and  if  all  wolves  had 
been  as  this  wolf,  they  would  have  changed  the  history 

165 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

of  man.     M.  Elie  ^erthet  has  made  him  the  hero  of  a 
novel,  which  I  have  read,  and  do  not  wish  to  read  again. 

I  hurried  over  my  lunch,  and  was  proof  against  the 
landlady's  desire  that  I  should  visit  our  Lady  of  Pradelles, 
''who  performed  many  miracles,  although  she  was  of 
wood;"  and  before  three  quarters  of  an  hour  I  was 
goading  Modestine  down  the  steep  descent  that  leads  to 
Langogne  on  the  AUier.  On  both  sides  of  the  road,  in 
big  dusty  fields,  farmers  were  preparing  for  next  spring. 
Every  fifty  yards  a  yoke  of  great-necked  stolid  oxen 
were  patiently  haling  at  the  plough.  I  saw  one  of  these 
mild,  formidable  servants  of  the  glebe,  who  took  a 
sudden  interest  in  Modestine  and  me.  The  furrow  down 
which  he  was  journeying  lay  at  an  angle  to  the  road, 
and  his  head  was  solidly  fixed  to  the  yoke  like  those  of 
caryatides  below  a  ponderous  cornice;  but  he  screwed 
round  his  big  honest  eyes  and  followed  us  with  a 
ruminating  look,  until  his  master  bade  him  turn  the 
plough  and  proceed  to  reascend  the  field.  From  all 
these  furrowing  ploughshares,  from  the  feet  of  oxen, 
from  a  labourer  here  and  there  who  was  breaking  the 
dry  clods  with  a  hoe,  the  wind  carried  away  a  thin 
dust  like  so  much  smoke.  It  was  a  fine,  busy,  breath- 
ing, rustic  landscape;  and  as  I  continued  to  descend, 
the  highlands  of  Gevaudan  kept  mounting  in  front  of 
me  against  the  sky. 

I  had  crossed  the  Loire  the  day  before ;  now  I  was  to 
cross  the  AUier;  so  near  are  these  two  confluents  in 
their  youth.  Just  at  the  bridge  of  Langogne,  as  the  long- 
promised  rain  was  beginning  to  fall,  a  lassie  of  some 
seven  or  eight  addressed  me  in  the  sacramental  phrase, 
' *  D'oU'st  que  vous  vene^  ?  "   She  did  it  with  so  high  an 

1 66 


I   HAVE  A  GOAD 


air  that  she  set  me  laughing;  and  this  cut  her  to  the 
quick.  She  was  evidently  one  who  reckoned  on  respect, 
and  stood  looking  after  me  in  silent  dudgeon,  as  I  crossed 
the  bridge  and  entered  the  county  of  Gevaudan, 


i«7 


UPPER  GEVAUDAN 


'  The  way  also  here  was  very  weari- 
some through  dirt  and  slabbi- 
ness  ;  nor  was  there  on  all  this 
ground  so  much  as  one  inn  or 
victualling-house  wherein  to  re- 
fresh the  feebler  sort." — Pil- 
grim's Progress. 


UPPER  GfiVAUDAN 

A  CAMP  IN  THE  DARK 

THE  next  day  ( Tuesday,  September  24th),  it  was  two 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  before  I  got  my  journal 
written  up  and  my  knapsack  repaired,  for  I  was  deter- 
mined to  carry  my  knapsack  in  the  future  and  have  no 
more  ado  with  baskets ;  and  half  an  hour  afterwards  I 
set  out  for  Le  C  hey  lard  VEveqiie,  a  place  on  the  borders 
of  the  forest  of  Mercoire.  A  man,  I  was  told,  should 
walk  there  in  an  hour  and  a  half;  and  I  thought  it  scarce 
too  ambitious  to  suppose  that  a  man  encumbered  with 
a  donkey  might  cover  the  same  distance  in  four  hours. 
All  the  way  up  the  long  hill  from  Langogne  it  rained 
and  hailed  alternately ;  the  wind  kept  freshening  stead- 
ily, although  slowly;  plentiful  hurrying  clouds  —  some 
dragging  veils  of  straight  rain-shower,  others  massed 
and  luminous,  as  though  promising  snow  —  careered 
out  of  the  north  and  followed  me  along  my  way.  I 
was  soon  out  of  the  cultivated  basin  of  the  AUter,  and 
away  from  the  ploughing  oxen,  and  such-like  sights  of 
the  country.  Moor,  heathery  marsh,  tracts  of  rock  and 
pines,  woods  of  birch  all  jewelled  with  the  autumn  yel- 
low, here  and  there  a  few  naked  cottages  and  bleak 
fields, — these  were  the  characters  of  the  country.  Hill 
and  valley  followed  valley  and  hill;  the  little  green  and 

171 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

Stony  cattle-tracks  wandered  in  and  out  of  one  another, 
split  into  three  or  four,  died  away  in  marshy  hollows, 
and  began  again  sporadically  on  hillsides  or  at  the  bor- 
ders of  a  wood. 

There  was  no  direct  road  to  Cheylard,  and  it  was  no 
easy  affair  to  make  a  passage  in  this  uneven  country  and 
through  this  intermittent  labyrinth  of  tracks.  It  must 
have  been  about  four  when  I  struck  Sagnerousse,  and 
went  on  my  way  rejoicing  in  a  sure  point  of  departure. 
Two  hours  afterwards,  the  dusk  rapidly  falling,  in  a  lull 
of  the  wind,  I  issued  from  a  fir-wood  where  I  had  long 
been  wandering,  and  found,  not  the  looked-for  village, 
but  another  marish  bottom  among  rough-and-tumble 
hills.  For  some  time  past  I  had  heard  the  ringing  of 
cattle-bells  ahead ;  and  now,  as  I  came  out  of  the  skirts 
of  the  wood,  I  saw  near  upon  a  dozen  cows  and  per- 
haps as  many  more  black  figures,  which  I  conjectured 
to  be  children,  although  the  mist  had  almost  unrecog- 
nisably exaggerated  their  forms.  These  were  all  silently 
following  each  other  round  and  round  in  a  circle,  now 
taking  hands,  now  breaking  up  with  chains  and  rever- 
ences. A  dance  of  children  appeals  to  very  innocent 
and  lively  thoughts;  but,  at  nightfall  on  the  marshes, 
the  thing  was  eerie  and  fantastic  to  behold.  Even  I, 
who  am  well  enough  read  in  Herbert  Spencer,  felt  a  sort 
of  silence  fall  for  an  instant  on  my  mind.  The  next,  1 
was  pricking  Modestine  forward,  and  guiding  her  like 
an  unruly  ship  through  the  open.  In  a  path,  she  went 
doggedly  ahead  of  her  own  accord,  as  before  a  fair  wind ; 
but  once  on  the  turf  or  among  heather,  and  the  brute 
became  demented.  The  tendency  of  lost  travellers  to 
go  round  in  a  circle  was  developed  in  her  to  the  degree 

172 


A   CAMP  IN   THE   DARK 

of  passion,  and  it  took  all  the  steering  I  had  in  me  to  keep 
even  a  decently  straight  course  through  a  single  field. 

While  I  was  thus  desperately  tacking  through  the  bog, 
children  and  cattle  began  to  disperse,  until  only  a  pair 
of  girls  remained  behind.  From  these  I  sought  direction 
on  my  path.  The  peasantry  in  general  were  but  little 
disposed  to  counsel  a  wayfarer.  One  old  devil  simply 
retired  into  his  house,  and  barricaded  the  door  on  my 
approach ;  and  I  might  beat  and  shout  myself  hoarse,  he 
turned  a  deaf  ear.  Another,  having  given  me  a  direc- 
tion which,  as  1  found  afterwards,  I  had  misunderstood, 
complacently  watched  me  going  wrong  without  adding 
a  sign.  He  did  not  care  a  stalk  of  parsley  if  I  wandered 
all  night  upon  the  hills !  As  for  these  two  girls,  they 
were  a  pair  of  impudent  sly  sluts,  with  not  a  thought 
but  mischief.  One  put  out  her  tongue  at  me,  the  other 
bade  me  follow  the  cows ;  and  they  both  giggled  and 
jogged  each  other's  elbows.  The  Beast  of  Gevaudan  ate 
about  a  hundred  children  of  this  district;  I  began  to  think 
of  him  with  sympathy. 

Leaving  the  girls,  I  pushed  on  through  the  bog,  and 
got  into  another  wood  and  upon  a  well-marked  road. 
It  grew  darker  and  darker.  Modestine,  suddenly  be- 
ginning to  smell  mischief,  bettered  the  pace  of  her  own 
accord,  and  from  that  time  forward  gave  me  no  trouble. 
It  was  the  first  sign  of  intelligence  I  had  occasion  to  re- 
mark in  her.  At  the  same  time,  the  wind  freshened  into 
half  a  gale,  and  another  heavy  discharge  of  rain  came 
flying  up  out  of  the  north.  At  the  other  side  of  the 
wood  I  sighted  some  red  windows  in  the  dusk.  This 
was  the  hamlet  of  Fou:(ilhic;  three  houses  on  a  hillside, 
near  a  wood  of  birches.     Here  I  found  a  delightful  old 

>73 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

man,  who  came  a  little  way  with  me  in  the  rain  to  put 
me  safely  on  the  road  for  Cheylard,  He  would  hear  of 
no  reward ;  but  shook  his  hands  above  his  head  almost 
as  if  in  menace,  and  refused  volubly  and  shrilly,  in  un- 
mitigated patois. 

All  seemed  right  at  last.  My  thoughts  began  to  turn 
upon  dinner  and  a  fireside,  and  my  heart  was  agreeably 
softened  in  my  bosom.  Alas,  and  I  was  on  the  brink 
of  new  and  greater  miseries!  Suddenly,  at  a  single 
swoop,  the  night  fell.  I  have  been  abroad  in  many  a 
black  night,  but  never  in  a  blacker.  A  glimmer  of 
rocks,  a  glimmer  of  the  track  where  it  was  well  beaten, 
a  certain  fleecy  density,  or  night  within  night,  for  a  tree, 
—  this  was  all  that  1  could  discriminate.  The  sky  was 
simply  darkness  overhead ;  even  the  flying  clouds  pur- 
sued their  way  invisibly  to  human  eyesight.  I  could  not 
distinguish  my  hand  at  arm's  length  from  the  track,  nor 
my  goad,  at  the  same  distance,  from  the  meadows  or 
the  sky. 

Soon  the  road  that  I  was  following  split,  after  the 
fashion  of  the  country,  into  three  or  four  in  a  piece  of 
rocky  meadow.  Since  Modestine  had  shown  such  a 
fancy  for  beaten  roads,  I  tried  her  instinct  in  this  predic- 
ament. But  the  instinct  of  an  ass  is  what  might  be 
expected  from  the  name;  in  half  a  minute  she  was 
clambering  round  and  round  among  some  boulders,  as 
lost  a  donkey  as  you  would  wish  to  see.  I  should  have 
camped  long  before  had  I  been  properly  provided;  but 
as  this  was  to  be  so  short  a  stage,  I  had  brought  no 
wine,  no  bread  for  myself,  and  a  little  over  a  pound  for 
my  lady-friend.  Add  to  this,  that  I  and  Modestine  were 
both  handsomely  wetted  by  the  showers.     But  now,  if 

>74 


A   CAMP   IN   THE   DARK 

I  could  have  found  some  water,  I  should  have  camped 
at  once  in  spite  of  all.  Water,  however,  being  entirely- 
absent,  except  in  the  form  of  rain,  I  determined  to  re- 
turn to  Fouiilhic,  and  ask  a  guide  a  little  further  on  my 
way — "a  little  farther  lend  thy  guiding  hand." 

The  thing  was  easy  to  decide,  hard  to  accomplish. 
In  this  sensible  roaring  blackness  I  was  sure  of  nothing 
but  the  direction  of  the  wind.  To  this  I  set  my  face ; 
the  road  had  disappeared,  and  I  went  across  country, 
now  in  marshy  opens,  now  baffled  by  walls  unscalable 
to  Modestine,  until  I  came  once  more  in  sight  of  some 
red  windows.  This  time  they  were  differently  disposed. 
It  was  not  Fou^ilhic,  but  FouT^ilhac,  a  hamlet  little  dis- 
tant from  the  other  in  space,  but  worlds  away  in  the 
spirit  of  its  inhabitants.  I  tied  Modestine  to  a  gate,  and 
groped  forward,  stumbling  among  rocks,  plunging  mid- 
leg  in  bog,  until  I  gained  the  entrance  of  the  village.  In 
the  first  lighted  house  there  was  a  woman  who  would 
not  open  to  me.  She  could  do  nothing,  she  cried  to  me 
through  the  door,  being  alone  and  lame;  but  if  I  would 
apply  at  the  next  house,  there  was  a  man  who  could 
help  me  if  he  had  a  mind. 

They  came  to  the  next  door  in  force,  a  man,  two  wo- 
men, and  a  girl,  and  brought  a  pair  of  lanterns  to  examine 
the  wayfarer.  The  man  was  not  ill-looking,  but  had  a 
shifty  smile.  He  leaned  against  the  door-post,  and  heard 
me  state  my  case.  All  I  asked  was  a  guide  as  far  as 
Cheylard, 

"'  C est  que,  voye^-vous,  ilfaitnoir/'  said  he. 

I  told  him  that  was  just  my  reason  for  requiring  help. 

"I  understand  that,"  said  he,  looking  uncomfortable; 
"  mais  —  c'est —  de  la  peine, ' ' 

»75 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

I  was  willing  to  pay,  I  said.  He  shook  his  head.  I 
rose  as  high  as  ten  francs ;  but  he  continued  to  shake  his 
head.     "Name  your  own  price,  then,"  said  I. 

"  Ce  n  est  pas  ga/'  he  said  at  length,  and  with  evident 
difficulty;  "but  I  am  not  going  to  cross  the  door — mais 
je  ne  sortiraipas  de  la  porta." 

I  grew  a  little  warm,  and  asked  him  what  he  proposed 
that  I  should  do. 

"  Where  are  you  going  beyond  Cheylard .?  ''  he  asked 
by  way  of  answer. 

"That  is  no  affair  of  yours,"  I  returned,  for  I  was  not 
going  to  indulge  his  bestial  curiosity ;  "  it  changes  nothing 
in  my  present  predicament." 

"  C'est  mai,  ga,"  he  acknowledged,  with  a  laugh; 
"■  oui,  c'est  vrai.     Et  d'ou  vene^-vous ?  ' ' 

A  better  man  than  I  might  have  felt  nettled. 

"  O,"  said  I,  "  I  am  not  going  to  answer  any  of  your 
questions,  so  you  may  spare  yourself  the  trouble  of 
putting  them.  I  am  late  enough  already ;  I  want  help. 
If  you  will  not  guide  me  yourself,  at  least  help  me  to 
find  some  one  else  who  will." 

"  Hold  on,"  he  cried  suddenly.  "  Was  it  not  you  who 
passed  in  the  meadow  while  it  was  still  day  }  " 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  the  girl,  whom  I  had  not  hitherto 
recognised;  "it  was  monsieur;  I  told  him  to  follow  the 
cow." 

"As  for  you,  mademoiselle,"  said  I,  "you  are  a/^r- 
ceuse,'' 

"And,"  added  the  man,  "what  the  devil  have  you 
done  to  be  still  here  }  " 

What  the  devil,  indeed!  But  there  I  was.  "The 
great  thing,"  said  I,  "is  to  make  an  end  of  it;"  and 

176 


A  CAMP   IN   THE   DARK 

once  more  proposed  that  he  should  help  me  to  find  a 
guide. 

"  C'estquCj''  he  said  again,  "c' est  que —  ilfait  noir, " 
**  Very  well,"  said  I;  "take  one  of  your  lanterns." 
**No,"  he  cried,  drawing  a  thought  backward,  and 
again  intrenching  himself  behind  one  of  his  former 
phrases;  "  I  will  not  cross  the  door." 

I  looked  at  him.  I  saw  unaffected  terror  struggling 
on  his  face  with  unaffected  shame ;  he  was  smiling  piti- 
fully and  wetting  his  lip  with  his  tongue,  like  a  detected 
schoolboy.  I  drew  a  brief  picture  of  my  state,  and  asked 
him  what  I  was  to  do. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said ;  '*  I  will  not  cross  the  door." 
Here  was  the  Beast  of  Gevaudan,  and  no  mistake. 
**Sir,"  said  I,  with  my  most  commanding  manners, 
*'you  are  a  coward." 

And  with  that  I  turned  my  back  upon  the  family 
party,  who  hastened  to  retire  within  their  fortifications ; 
and  the  famous  door  was  closed  again,  but  not  till  I  had 
overheard  the  sound  of  laughter.  Filta  barbara  pater 
barbarior.  Let  me  say  it  in  the  plural :  the  Beasts  of 
Givaudan. 

The  lanterns  had  somewhat  dazzled  me,  and  I 
ploughed  distressfully  among  stones  and  rubbish-heaps. 
All  the  other  houses  in  the  village  were  both  dark  and 
silent;  and  though  I  knocked  at  here  and  there  a  door, 
my  knocking  was  unanswered.  It  was  a  bad  business ; 
I  gave  up  Fou^^ilhac  with  my  curses.  The  rain  had 
stopped,  and  the  wind,  which  still  kept  rising,  began 
to  dry  my  coat  and  trousers.  **  Very  well,"  thought  I, 
*'  water  or  no  water,  I  must  camp."  But  the  first  thing 
was  to  return  to  Modestine.      I  am  pretty  sure  I  was 

177 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

twenty  minutes  groping  for  my  lady  in  the  dark ;  and 
if  it  had  not  been  for  the  unkindly  services  of  the  bog, 
into  which  I  once  more  stumbled,  I  might  have  still 
been  groping  for  her  at  the  dawn.  My  next  business 
was  to  gain  the  shelter  of  a  wood,  for  the  wind  was 
cold  as  well  as  boisterous.  How,  in  this  well-wooded 
district,  I  should  have  been  so  long  in  finding  one,  is 
another  of  the  insoluble  mysteries  of  this  day's  adven- 
tures ;  but  I  will  take  my  oath  that  I  put  near  an  hour  to 
the  discovery. 

At  last  black  trees  began  to  show  upon  my  left,  and, 
suddenly  crossing  the  road,  made  a  cave  of  unmitigated 
blackness  right  in  front.  I  call  it  a  cave  without  exag- 
geration ;  to  pass  below  that  arch  of  leaves  was  like  en- 
tering a  dungeon.  I  felt  about  until  my  hand  encoun- 
tered a  stout  branch,  and  to  this  I  tied  Modestine,  a.  hag- 
gard, drenched,  desponding  donkey.  Then  I  lowered 
my  pack,  laid  it  along  the  wall  on  the  margin  of  the  road, 
and  unbuckled  the  straps.  I  knew  well  enough  where 
the  lantern  was ;  but  where  were  the  candles  ?  I  groped 
and  groped  among  the  tumbled  articles,  and,  while  I 
was  thus  groping,  suddenly  I  touched  the  spirit-lamp. 
Salvation!  This  would  serve  my  turn  as  well.  The 
wind  roared  unwearyingly  among  the  trees ;  I  could  hear 
the  boughs  tossing  and  the  leaves  churning  through 
half  a  mile  of  forest;  yet  the  scene  of  my  encampment 
was  not  only  as  black  as  the  pit,  but  admirably  sheltered. 
At  the  second  match  the  wick  caught  flame.  The  light 
was  both  livid  and  shifting ;  but  it  cut  me  off  from  the 
universe,  and  doubled  the  darkness  of  the  surrounding 
night. 

I  tied  Modestine  more  conveniently  for  herself,  and 
178 


A  CAMP  IN   THE   DARK 

broke  up  half  the  black  bread  for  her  supper,  reserving 
the  other  half  against  the  morning.  Then  I  gathered 
what  I  should  want  within  reach,  took  off  my  wet  boots 
and  gaiters,  which  I  wrapped  in  my  waterproof,  ar- 
ranged my  knapsack  for  a  pillow  under  the  flap  of  my 
sleeping-bag,  insinuated  my  limbs  into  the  interior,  and 
buckled  myself  in  like  a  bambino.  I  opened  a  tin  of 
Bologna  sausage  and  broke  a  cake  of  chocolate,  and  that 
was  all  1  had  to  eat.  It  may  sound  offensive,  but  I  ate 
them  together,  bite  by  bite,  by  way  of  bread  and  meat. 
All  I  had  to  wash  down  this  revolting  mixture  was  neat 
brandy :  a  revolting  beverage  in  itself.  But  I  was  rare 
and  hungry ;  ate  well,  and  smoked  one  of  the  best  ciga- 
rettes in  my  experience.  Then  I  put  a  stone  in  my  straw 
hat,  pulled  the  flap  of  my  fur  cap  over  my  neck  and 
eyes,  put  my  revolver  ready  to  my  hand,  and  snuggled 
well  down  among  the  sheepskins. 

I  questioned  at  first  if  I  were  sleepy,  for  I  felt  my  heart 
beating  faster  than  usual,  as  if  with  an  agreeable  excite- 
ment to  which  my  mind  remained  a  stranger.  But  as 
^oon  as  my  eyelids  touched,  that  subtle  glue  leaped  be- 
tween them,  and  they  would  no  more  come  separate. 

The  wind  among  the  trees  was  my  lullaby.  Some- 
times it  sounded  for  minutes  together  with  a  steady  even 
rush,  not  rising  nor  abating;  and  again  it  would  swell 
.and  burst  like  a  great  crashing  breaker,  and  the  trees 
would  patter  me  all  over  with  big  drops  from  the  rain 
of  the  afternoon.  Night  after  night,  in  my  own  bed- 
room in  the  country,  I  have  given  ear  to  this  perturbing 
concert  of  the  wind  among  the  woods;  but  whether  it 
was  a  difference  in  the  trees,  or  the  lie  of  the  ground,  or 
because  I  was  myself  outside  and  in  the  midst  of  it,  the 

179 


TRAVELS  WITH   A    DONKEY 

fact  remains  that  the  wind  sang  to  a  different  tune  among 
these  woods  of  Ghaudan.  I  hearkened  and  hearkened ; 
and  meanwhile  sleep  took  gradual  possession  of  my 
body  and  subdued  my  thoughts  and  senses;  but  still 
my  last  waking  effort  was  to  listen  and  distinguish,  and 
my  last  conscious  state  was  one  of  wonder  at  the  foreign 
clamour  in  my  ears. 

Twice  in  the  course  of  the  dark  hours  —  once  when  a 
stone  galled  me  underneath  the  sack,  and  again  when 
the  poor  patient  Modestine,  growing  angry,  pawed  and 
stamped  upon  the  road  —  I  was  recalled  for  a  brief  while 
to  consciousness,  and  saw  a  star  or  two  overhead,  and 
the  lace-like  tdgt  of  the  foliage  against  the  sky.  When 
I  awoke  for  the  third  time  {Wednesday,  September 2^ tb), 
the  world  was  flooded  with  a  blue  light,  the  mother  of 
the  dawn.  I  saw  the  leaves  labouring  in  the  wind  and 
the  ribbon  of  the  road ;  and,  on  turning  my  head,  there 
was  Modestine  tied  to  a  beech,  and  standing  half  across  the 
path  in  an  attitude  of  inimitable  patience.  I  closed  my 
eyes  again,  and  set  to  thinking  over  the  experience  of 
the  night.  I  was  surprised  to  find  how  easy  and  pleas- 
ant it  had  been,  even  in  this  tempestuous  weather.  The 
stone  which  annoyed  me  would  not  have  been  there, 
had  I  not  been  forced  to  camp  blindfold  in  the  opaque 
night;  and  1  had  felt  no  other  inconvenience,  except 
when  my  feet  encountered  the  lantern  or  the  second 
volume  of  Pey rat's  Pastors  of  the  Desert  among  the 
mixed  contents  of  my  sleeping-bag;  nay  more,  I  had 
felt  not  a  touch  of  cold,  and  awakened  with  unusually 
lightsome  and  clear  sensations. 

With  that,  I  shook  myself,  got  once  more  into  my 
boots  and  gaiters,  and,  breaking  up  the  rest  of  the  bread 

180 


A  CAMP  IN   THE  DARK 

for  Modestine,  strolled  about  to  see  in  what  part  of  the 
world  I  had  awakened.  Ulysses,  left  on  Ithaca,  and  with 
a  mind  unsettled  by  the  goddess,  was  not  more  pleas- 
antly astray.  I  have  been  after  an  adventure  all  my  life, 
a  pure  dispassionate  adventure,  such  as  befell  early  and 
heroic  voyagers ;  and  thus  to  be  found  by  morning  in  a 
random  woodside  nook  in  Gevaudan  —  not  knowing 
north  from  south,  as  strange  to  my  surroundings  as  the 
first  man  upon  the  earth,  an  inland  castaway  —  was  to 
find  a  fraction  of  my  day-dreams  realised.  I  was  on  the 
skirts  of  a  little  wood  of  birch,  sprinkled  with  a  few 
beeches;  behind,  it  adjoined  another  wood  of  fir;  and 
in  front,  it  broke  up  and  went  down  in  open  order  into 
a  shallow  and  meadowy  dale.  All  around  there  were 
bare  hill-tops,  some  near,  some  far  away,  as  the  per- 
spective closed  or  opened,  but  none  apparently  much 
higher  than  the  rest.  The  wind  huddled  the  trees.  The 
golden  specks  of  autumn  in  the  birches  tossed  shiver- 
ingly.  Overhead  the  sky  was  full  of  strings  and  shreds 
of  vapour,  flying,  vanishing,  reappearing,  and  turning 
about  an  axis  like  tumblers,  as  the  wind  hounded  them 
through  heaven.  It  was  wild  weather  and  famishing 
cold.  I  ate  some  chocolate,  swallowed  a  mouthful  of 
brandy,  and  smoked  a  cigarette  before  the  cold  should 
have  time  to  disable  my  fingers.  And  by  the  time  I  had 
got  all  this  done,  and  had  made  my  pack  and  bound  it 
on  the  pack-saddle,  the  day  was  tiptoe  on  the  thresh- 
hold  of  the  east.  We  had  not  gone  many  steps  along 
the  lane,  before  the  sun,  still  invisible  to  me,  sent  a  glow 
of  gold  over  some  cloud  mountains  that  lay  ranged  along 
the  eastern  sky. 
The  wind  had  us  on  the  stern,  and  hurried  us  bitingly 

i8i 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

forward.  I  buttoned  myself  into  my  coat,  and  walked 
on  in  a  pleasant  frame  of  mind  with  all  men,  when  sud- 
denly, at  a  corner,  there  was  Fouiilhic  once  more  in 
front  of  me. '  Nor  only  that,  but  there  was  the  old  gentle- 
man who  had  escorted  me  so  far  the  night  before,  run- 
ning out  of  his  house  at  sight  of  me,  with  hands  upraised 
in  horror. 

"  My  poor  boy!  "  he  cried,  "  what  does  this  mean  ?" 

I  told  him  what  had  happened.  He  beat  his  old 
hands  like  clappers  in  a  mill,  to  think  how  lightly  he 
had  let  me  go ;  but  when  he  heard  of  the  man  of  Fou- 
Tiilhac,  anger  and  depression  seized  upon  his  mind. 

"This  time,  at  least,"  said  he,  ''there  shall  be  no 
mistake." 

And  he  limped  along,  for  he  was  very  rheumatic,  for 
about  half  a  mile,  and  until  I  was  almost  within  sight  of 
Cheylard,  the  destination  I  had  hunted  for  so  long. 


183 


CHEYLARD  AND  LUC 

Candidly,  it  seemed  little  worthy  of  all  this  searching. 
A  few  broken  ends  of  village,  with  no  particular  street, 
but  a  succession  of  open  places  heaped  with  logs  and 
fagots ;  a  couple  of  tilted  crosses,  a  shrine  to  our  Lady 
of  all  Graces  on  the  summit  of  a  little  hill ;  and  all  this, 
upon  a  rattling  highland  river,  in  the  corner  of  a  naked 
valley.  What  went  ye  out  for  to  see  t  thought  I  to  my- 
self. But  the  place  had  a  life  of  its  own.  I  found  a 
board  commemorating  the  liberalities  of  Cheylard  for 
the  past  year,  hung  up,  like  a  banner,  in  the  diminutive 
and  tottering  church.  In  1877,  it  appeared,  the  inhabi- 
tants subscribed  forty-eight  francs  ten  centimes  for  the 
' '  Work  of  the  Propagation  of  the  Faith. "  Some  of  this, 
I  could  not  help  hoping,  would  be  applied  to  my  native 
land.  Cheylard  scrapes  together  halfpence  for  the  dark- 
ened souls  in  Edinburgh;  while  Balquidder  and  Dun- 
rossness  bemoan  the  ignorance  of  Rome.  Thus,  to  the 
high  entertainment  of  the  angels,  do  we  pelt  each  other 
with  evangelists,  like  school-boys  bickering  in  the  snow. 

The  inn  was  again  singularly  unpretentious.  The 
whole  furniture  of  a  not  ill-to-do  family  was  in  the 
kitchen :  the  beds,  the  cradle,  the  clothes,  the  plate-rack, 
the  meal-chest,  and  the  photograph  of  the  parish  priest. 

183 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

There  were  five  children,  one  of  whom  was  set  to  its 
morning  prayers  at  the  stair-foot  soon  after  my  arrival, 
and  a  sixth  would  erelong  be  forthcoming.  I  was  kindly 
received  by  these  good  folk.  They  were  much  interested 
in  my  misadventure.  The  wood  in  which  I  had  slept 
belonged  to  them ;  the  man  of  Fouiilhac  they  thought 
a  monster  of  iniquity,  and  counselled  me  warmly  to 
summon  him  at  law  —  "because  I  might  have  died." 
The  good  wife  was  horror-stricken  to  see  me  drink  over 
a  pint  of  uncreamed  milk. 

*'You  will  do  yourself  an  evil,"  she  said.  *' Permit 
me  to  boil  it  for  you." 

After  I  had  begun  the  morning  on  this  delightful 
liquor,  she  having  an  infinity  of  things  to  arrange,  I  was 
permitted,  nay  requested,  to  make  a  bowl  of  chocolate 
for  myself  My  boots  and  gaiters  were  hung  up  to  dry, 
and,  seeing  me  trying  to  write  my  journal  on  my  knee, 
the  eldest  daughter  let  down  a  hinged  table  in  the 
chimney-corner  for  my  convenience.  Here  I  wrote, 
drank  my  chocolate,  and  finally  ate  an  omelette  before  I 
left.  The  table  was  thick  with  dust;  for,  as  they  ex- 
plained, it  was  not  used  except  in  winter  weather.  I 
had  a  clear  look  up  the  vent,  through  brown  agglomera- 
tions of  soot  and  blue  vapour,  to  the  sky ;  and  whenever 
a  handful  of  twigs  was  thrown  on  to  the  fire,  my  legs 
were  scorched  by  the  blaze. 

The  husband  had  begun  life  as  a  muleteer,  and  when 
I  came  to  charge  Modestine  showed  himself  full  of  the 
prudence  of  his  art.  "You  will  have  to  change  this 
package,"  said  he;  "it  ought  to  be  in  two  parts,  and 
then  you  might  have  double  the  weight." 

I  explained  that  I  wanted  no  more  weight;  and  for 
184 


CHEYLARD   AND   LUC 

no  donkey  hitherto  created  would  I  cut  my  sleeping- 
bag  in  two. 

**It  fatigues  her,  however,"  said  the  innkeeper;  **it 
fatigues  her  greatly  on  the  march.     Look." 

Alas,  there  were  her  two  forelegs  no  better  than  raw 
beef  on  the  inside,  and  blood  was  running  from  under 
her  tail.  They  told  me  when  I  left,  and  I  was  ready  to 
believe  it,  that  before  a  few  days  I  should  come  to  love 
Modestine  like  a  dog.  Three  days  had  passed,  we  had 
shared  some  misadventures,  and  my  heart  was  still  as  cold 
as  a  potato  towards  my  beast  of  burden.  She  was  pretty 
enough  to  look  at;  but  then  she  had  given  proof  of  dead 
stupidity,  redeemed  indeed  by  patience,  but  aggravated 
by  flashes  of  sorry  and  ill-judged  light-heartedness. 
And  I  own  this  new  discovery  seemed  another  point 
against  her.  What  the  devil  was  the  good  of  a  she-ass 
if  she  could  not  carry  a  sleeping-bag  and  a  few  neces- 
saries ?  I  saw  the  end  of  the  fable  rapidly  approaching, 
when  I  should  have  to  carry  Modestine.  yEsop  was  the 
man  to  know  the  world !  I  assure  you  I  set  out  with 
heavy  thoughts  upon  my  short  day's  march. 

It  was  not  only  heavy  thoughts  about  Modestine  that 
weighted  me  upon  the  way ;  it  was  a  leaden  business 
altogether.  For  first,  the  wind  blew  so  rudely  that  I  had 
to  hold  on  the  pack  with  one  hand  from  Cbeylard  to 
Luc;  and  second,  my  road  lay  through  one  of  the  most 
beggarly  countries  in  the  world.  It  was  like  the  worst 
of  the  Scotch  Highlands,  only  worse;  cold,  naked,  and 
ignoble,  scant  of  wood,  scant  of  heather,  scant  of  life. 
A  road  and  some  fences  broke  the  unvarying  waste,  and 
the  line  of  the  road  was  marked  by  upright  pillars,  to 
serve  in  time  of  snow. 

185 


TRAVELS  WITH   a   uONKEY 

Why  any  one  should  desire  to  visit  either  Luc  or 
Cheylard  is  more  than  my  much-inventing  spirit  can 
suppose.  For  my  part,  I  travel  not  to  go  anywhere, 
but  to  go.  I  travel  for  travel's  sake.  The  great  affair  is 
to  move ;  to  feel  the  needs  and  hitches  of  our  life  more 
nearly ;  to  come  down  off  this  feather-bed  of  civiliza- 
tion, and  find  the  globe  granite  underfoot  and  strewn 
with  cutting  flints.  Alas,  as  we  get  up  in  life,  and  are 
more  preoccupied  with  our  affairs,  even  a  holiday  is  a 
thing  that  must  be  worked  for.  To  hold  a  pack  upon 
a  pack-saddle  against  a  gale  out  of  the  freezing  north  is 
no  high  industry,  but  it  is  one  that  serves  to  occupy 
and  compose  the  mind.  And  when  the  present  is  so 
exacting,  who  can  annoy  himself  about  the  future  ? 

I  came  out  at  length  above  the  AUier,  A  more  un- 
sightly prospect  at  this  season  of  the  year  it  would  be 
hard  to  fancy.  Shelving  hills  rose  round  it  on  all  sides, 
here  dabbled  with  wood  and  fields,  there  rising  to  peaks 
alternately  naked  and  hairy  with  pines.  The  colour 
throughout  was  black  or  ashen,  and  came  to  a  point  in 
the  ruins  of  the  castle  of  Luc,  which  pricked  up  impu- 
dently from  below  my  feet,  carrying  on  a  pinnacle  a  tall 
white  statue  of  our  Lady,  which,  I  heard  with  interest, 
weighed  fifty  quintals,  and  was  to  be  dedicated  on  the 
6th  of  October,  Through  this  sorry  landscape  trickled 
the  AUier  and  a  tributary  of  nearly  equal  size,  which 
came  down  to  join  it  through  a  broad  nude  valley  in 
yivarais.  The  weather  had  somewhat  lightened,  and 
the  clouds  massed  in  squadron;  but  the  fierce  wind  still 
hunted  them  through  heaven,  and  cast  great  ungainly 
splashes  of  shadow  and  sunlight  over  the  scene. 

Luc  itself  was  a  straggling  double  file  of  houses  wedged 
186 


CHEYLARD   AND   LUC 

between  hill  and  river.  It  had  no  beauty,  nor  was  there 
any  notable  feature,  save  the  old  castle  overhead  with 
its  fifty  quintals  of  brand-new  Madonna.  But  the  inn 
was  clean  and  large.  The  kitchen,  with  its  two  box- 
beds  hung  with  clean  check  curtains,  with  its  wide  stone 
chimney,  its  chimney-shelf  four  yards  long  and  garnished 
with  lanterns  and  religious  statuettes,  its  array  of  chests 
and  pair  of  ticking  clocks,  was  the  very  model  of  what 
a  kitchen  ought  to  be;  a  melodrama  kitchen,  suitable 
for  bandits  or  noblemen  in  disguise.  Nor  was  the  scene 
disgraced  by  the  landlady,  a  handsome,  silent,  dark  old 
woman,  clothed  and  hooded  in  black  like  a  nup.  Even 
the  public  bedroom  had  a  character  of  its  own,  with  the 
long  deal  tables  and  benches,  where  fifty  might  have 
dined,  set  out  as  for  a  harvest-home,  and  the  three  box- 
beds  along  the  wall.  In  one  of  these,  lying  on  straw 
and  covered  with  a  pair  of  table-napkins,  did  I  do  pen- 
ance all  night  long  in  goose-flesh  and  chattering  teeth, 
and  sigh  from  time  to  time  as  I  awakened  for  my  sheep- 
skin sack  and  the  lee  of  some  great  wood. 


187 


OUR  LADY  OF  THE  SNOWS 


"  /  behold 
The  House,  the  Brotherhood  austere— 
And  what  am  /,  that  I  am  here  f  " 

Matthew  Arnold. 


OUR  LADY  OF  THE  SNOWS 

FATHER  APOLLINARIS 

NEXT  morning  ( Thursday,  26th  September)  I  took  the 
road  in  a  new  order.  The  sack  was  no  longer 
doubled,  but  hung  at  full  length  across  the  saddle,  a  green 
sausage  six  feet  long  with  a  tuft  of  blue  wool  hanging 
out  of  either  end.  It  was  more  picturesque,  it  spared 
the  donkey,  and,  as  I  began  to  see,  it  would  insure  sta- 
bility, blow  high,  blow  low.  But  it  was  not  without  a 
pang  that  I  had  so  decided.  For  although  I  had  pur- 
chased a  new  cord,  and  made  all  as  fast  as  I  was  able, 
I  was  yet  jealously  uneasy  lest  the  flaps  should  tumble 
out  and  scatter  my  effects  along  the  line  of  march. 

My  way  lay  up  the  bald  valley  of  the  river,  along  the 
march  of  Vivarak  and  Ghaudan.  The  hills  of  Givau- 
dan  on  the  right  were  a  little  more  naked,  if  anything, 
than  those  of  Vivarais  upon  the  left,  and  the  former  had 
a  monopoly  of  a  low  dotty  underwood  that  grew  thickly 
in  the  gorges  and  died  out  in  solitary  burrs  upon  the 
shoulders  and  the  summits.  Black  bricks  of  fir-wood 
were  plastered  here  and  there  upon  both  sides,  and  here 
and  there  were  cultivated  fields.  A  railway  ran  beside 
the  river;  the  only  bit  of  railway  in  Gevaudan,  although 
there  are  many  proposals  afoot  and  surveys  being  made, 
and  even,  as  they  tell  me,  a  station  standing  ready- 
built  in  Mende,     A  year  or  two  hence  and  this  may  be 

191 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

another  world.  The  desert  is  beleaguered.  Now  may 
some  Languedocian  Wordsworth  turn  the  sonnet  into 
patois :  *  *  Mountains  and  vales  and  floods,  heard  ye  that 
whistle  ?  " 

At  a  place  called  La  Baztide  I  was  directed  to  leave 
the  river,  and  follow  a  road  that  mounted  on  the  left 
among  the  hills  of  Vivarais,  the  modern  Ardeche;  for 
I  was  now  come  within  a  little  way  of  my  strange  des- 
tination, the  Trappist  monastery  of  our  Lady  of  the  Snows, 
The  sun  came  out  as  I  left  the  shelter  of  a  pine-wood, 
and  I  beheld  suddenly  a  fine  wild  landscape  to  the 
south.  High  rocky  hills,  as  blue  as  sapphire,  closed 
the  view,  and  between  these  lay-  ridge  upon  ridge, 
heathery,  craggy,  the  sun  glittering  on  veins  of  rock, 
the  underwood  clambering  in  the  hollows,  as  rude  as 
God  made  them  at  the  first.  There  was  not  a  sign  of 
man's  hand  in  all  the  prospect;  and  indeed  not  a  trace 
of  his  passage,  save  where  generation  after  generation 
had  walked  in  twisted  footpaths,  in  and  out  among  the 
beeches,  and  up  and  down  upon  the  channelled  slopes. 
The  mists,  which  had  hitherto  beset  me,  were  now 
broken  into  clouds,  and  fled  swiftly  and  shone  brightly 
in  the  sun.  I  drew  a  long  breath.  It  was  grateful  to 
come,  after  so  long,  upon  a  scene  of  some  attraction  for 
the  human  heart.  I  own  I  like  definite  form  in  what 
my  eyes  are  to  rest  upon ;  and  if  landscapes  were  sold, 
like  the  sheets  of  characters  of  my  boyhood,  one  penny 
plain  and  twopence  coloured,  I  should  go  the  length  of 
twopence  every  day  of  my  life. 

But  if  things  had  grown  better  to  the  south,  it  was 
still  desolate  and  inclement  near  at  hand.  A  spidery 
cross  on  every  hill-top  marked  the  neighbourhood  of  a 

192 


FATHER  APOLLINARIS 

religious  house;  and  a  quarter  of  a  mile  beyond,  the 
outlook  southward  opening  out  and  growing  bolder 
with  every  step,  a  white  statue  of  the  Virgin  at  the  cor- 
ner of  a  young  plantation  directed  the  traveller  to  our 
Lady  of  the  Snows.  Here,  then,  I  struck  leftward,  and 
pursued  my  way,  driving  my  secular  donkey  before  me, 
and  creaking  in  my  secular  boots  and  gaiters,  towards 
the  asylum  of  silence. 

I  had  not  gone  very  far  ere  the  wind  brought  to  me 
the  clanging  of  a  bell,  and  somehow,  I  can  scarce  tell 
why,  my  heart  sank  within  me  at  the  sound.  I  have 
rarely  approached  anything  with  more  unaffected  terror 
than  the  monastery  of  our  Lady  of  the  Snows.  This  it 
is  to  have  had  a  Protestant  education.  And  suddenly, 
on  turning  a  corner,  fear  took  hold  on  me  from  head  to 
foot  —  slavish  superstitious  fear;  and  though  I  did  not 
stop  in  my  advance,  yet  I  went  on  slowly,  like  a  man 
who  should  have  passed  a  bourne  unnoticed,  and 
strayed  into  the  country  of  the  dead.  For  there  upon 
the  narrow  new-made  road,  between  the  stripling  pines, 
was  a  mediaeval  friar,  fighting  with  a  barrowful  of  turfs. 
Every  Sunday  of  my  childhood  I  used  to  study  the 
Hermits  of  Marco  Sadeler — enchanting  prints,  full  of 
wood  and  field  and  mediaeval  landscapes,  as  large  as  a 
county,  for  the  imagination  to  go  a-travelling  in;  and 
here,  sure  enough,  was  one  of  Marco  Sadeler' s  heroes. 
He  was  robed  in  white  like  any  spectre,  and  the  hood 
falling  back,  in  the  instancy  of  his  contention  with  the 
barrow,  disclosed  a  pate  as  bald  and  yellow  as  a  skull. 
He  might  have  been  buried  any  time  these  thousand 
years,  and  all  the  lively  parts  of  him  resolved  into  earth 
and  broken  up  with  the  farmer's  harrow. 

193 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

I  was  troubled  besides  in  my  mind  as  to  etiquette. 
Durst  I  address  a  person  who  was  under  a  vow  of 
silence  ?  Clearly  not.  But  drawing  near,  I  doffed  my 
cap  to  him  with  a  far-away  superstitious  reverence.  He 
nodded  back,  and  cheerfully  addressed  me.  Was  I  go- 
ing to  the  monastery  ?  Who  was  I  ?  An  Englishman  ? 
Ah,  an  Irishman,  then  ? 

*'No,"  I  said,  "a  Scotsman." 

A  Scotsman  ?  Ah,  he  had  never  seen  a  Scotsman  be- 
fore. And  he  looked  me  all  over,  his  good,  honest, 
brawny  countenance  shining  with  interest,  as  a  boy 
might  look  upon  a  lion  or  an  alligator.  From  him  I 
learned  with  disgust  that  I  could  not  be  received  at  our 
Lady  of  the  Snows;  I  might  get  a  meal,  perhaps,  but 
that  was  all.  And  then,  as  our  talk  ran  on,  and  it 
turned  out  that  I  was  not  a  pedlar,  but  a  literary  man, 
who  drew  landscapes  and  was  going  to  write  a  book, 
he  changed  his  manner  of  thinking  as  to  my  reception 
(for  I  fear  they  respect  persons  even  in  a  Trappist  mon- 
astery), and  told  me  I  must  be  sure  to  ask  for  the  Father 
Prior,  and  state  my  case  to  him  in  full.  On  second 
thoughts  he  determined  to  go  down  with  me  himself; 
he  thought  he  could  manage  for  me  better.  Might  he 
say  that  I  was  a  geographer  ? 

No ;  I  thought,  in  the  interests  of  truth,  he  positively 
might  not. 

''Very  well,  then"  (with  disappointment),  *'an 
author." 

It  appeared  he  had  been  in  a  seminary  with  six  young 
Irishmen,  all  priests  long  since,  who  had  received  news- 
papers and  kept  him  informed  of  the  state  of  ecclesias- 
tical affairs  in  England.     And  he  asked  me  eagerly  after 

194 


FATHER  APOLLINARIS 

Dr.  Pusey,  for  whose  conversion  the  good  man  had  con- 
tinued ever  since  to  pray  night  and  morning. 

"I  thought  he  was  very  near  the  truth,"  he  said; 
**and  he  will  reach  it  yet;  there  is  so  much  virtue  in 
prayer." 

He  must  be  a  stiff  ungodly  Protestant  who  can  take 
anything  but  pleasure  in  this  kind  and  hopeful  story. 
While  he  was  thus  near  the  subject,  the  good  father 
asked  me  if  I  were  a  Christian ;  and  when  he  found  1  was 
not,  or  not  after  his  way,  he  glossed  it  over  with  great 
good-will. 

The  road  which  we  were  following,  and  which  this 
stalwart  father  had  made  with  his  own  two  hands  within 
the  space  of  a  year,  came  to  a  corner,  and  showed  us 
some  white  buildings  a  little  further  on  beyond  the 
wood.  At  the  same  time,  the  bell  once  more  sounded 
abroad.  We  were  hard  upon  the  monastery.  Father 
ApoUinarh  (for  that  was  my  companion's  name) 
stopped  me. 

**I  must  not  speak  to  you  down  there,"  he  said. 
**  Ask  for  the  Brother  Porter,  and  all  will  be  well.  But 
try  to  see  me  as  you  go  out  again  through  the  wood, 
where  I  may  speak  to  you.  I  am  charmed  to  have  made 
your  acquaintance." 

And  then  suddenly  raising  his  arms,  flapping  his  fin- 
gers, and  crying  out  twice,  **I  must  not  speak,  I  must 
not  speak ! "  he  ran  away  in  front  of  me,  and  disappeared 
into  the  monastery-door. 

1  own  this  somewhat  ghastly  eccentricity  went  a  good 
way  to  revive  my  terrors.  But  where  one  was  so  good 
and  simple,  why  should  not  all  be  alike  ?  I  took  heart 
of  grace,  and  went  forward  to  the  gate  as  fast  as  Mo- 

195 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

destine,  who  seerrred  to  have  a  disaffection  for  monas- 
teries, would  permit.  It  was  the  first  door,  in  my  ac- 
quaintance of  her,  which  she  had  not  shown  an  indecent 
haste  to  enter.  I  summoned  the  place  in  form,  though 
with  a  quaking  heart.  Father  Michael,  the  Father  Hos- 
pitaller, and  a  pair  of  brown-robed  brothers  came  to  the 
gate  and  spoke  with  me  awhile.  I  think  my  sack  was 
the  great  attraction ;  it  had  already  beguiled  the  heart  of 
poor  ApoUinaris,  who  had  charged  me  on  my  life  to 
show  it  to  the  Father  Prior.  But  whether  it  was  my 
address,  or  the  sack,  or  the  idea  speedily  published 
among  that  part  of  the  brotherhood  who  attend  on  stran- 
gers that  I  was  not  a  pedlar  after  all,  I  found  no  difficulty 
as  to  my  reception.  Modestine  was  led  away  by  a  lay- 
man to  the  stables,  and  I  and  my  pack  were  received 
into  our  Lady  of  the  Snows, 


190 


THE  MONKS 

Father  Michael,  a  pleasant,  fresh-faced,  smiling  man, 
perhaps  of  thirty-five,  took  me  to  the  pantry,  and  gave 
me  a  glass  of  liqueur  to  stay  me  until  dinner.  We  had 
some  talk,  or  rather  I  should  say  he  listened  to  my 
prattle  indulgently  enough,  but  with  an  abstracted  air, 
like  a  spirit  with  a  thing  of  clay.  And  truly  when  1  re- 
member that  I  descanted  principally  on  my  appetite, 
and  that  it  must  have  been  by  that  time  more  than 
eighteen  hours  since  Father  Michael  had  so  much  as 
broken  bread,  I  can  well  understand  that  he  would 
find  an  earthly  savour  in  my  conversation.  But  his 
manner,  though  superior,  was  exquisitely  gracious ;  and 
I  find  I  have  a  lurking  curiosity  as  to  Father  Michael's 
past. 

The  whet  administered,  I  was  left  alone  for  a  little  in 
the  monastery  garden.  This  is  no  more  than  the  main 
court,  laid  out  in  sandy  paths  and  beds  of  party-coloured 
dahlias,  and  with  a  fountain  and  a  black  statue  of  the 
Virgin  in  the  centre.  The  buildings  stand  around  it 
four-square,  bleak,  as  yet  unseasoned  by  the  years  and 
weather,  and  with  no  other  features  than  a  belfry  and  a 
pair  of  slated  gables.  Brothers  in  white,  brothers  in 
brown,  passed  silently  along  the  sanded  alleys;  and 

197 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

when  I  first  came  out,  three  hooded  monks  were  kneel- 
ing on  the  terrace  at  their  prayers.  A  naked  hill  com- 
mands the  monastery  upon  one  side,  and  the  wood 
commands  it  on  the  other.  It  lies  exposed  to  wind; 
the  snow  falls  off  and  on  from  October  to  May,  and 
sometimes  lies  six  weeks  on  end ;  but  if  they  stood  in 
Eden,  with  a  climate  like  heaven's,  the  buildings  them- 
selves would  offer  the  same  wintry  and  cheerless  aspect; 
and  for  my  part,  on  this  wild  September  day,  before  I 
was  called  to  dinner,  I  felt  chilly  in  and  out. 

When  I  had  eaten  well  and  heartily.  Brother  Ambrose, 
a  hearty  conversable  Frenchman  (for  all  those  who  wait 
on  strangers  have  the  liberty  to  speak),  led  me  to  a  lit- 
tle room  in  that  part  of  the  building  which  is  set  apart 
for  MM.  les  retraitants.  It  was  clean  and  white- 
washed, and  furnished  with  strict  necessaries,  a  cruci- 
fix, a  bust  of  the  late  Pope,  the  Imitation  in  French,  a 
book  of  religious  meditations,  and  the  life  of  Eliiabeth 
Seton,  evangelist,  it  would  appear,  of  North  America 
and  of  New  England  in  particular.  As  far  as  my  experi- 
ence goes,  there  is  a  fair  field  for  some  more  evangeli- 
sation in  these  quarters;  but  think  of  Cotton  Mather ! 
I  should  like  to  give  him  a  reading  of  this  little  work  in 
heaven,  where  1  hope  he  dwells;  but  perhaps  he  knows 
all  that  already,  and  much  more;  and  perhaps  he  and 
Mrs.  Seton  are  the  dearest  friends,  and  gladly  unite 
their  voices  in  the  everlasting  psalm.  Over  the  table, 
to  conclude  the  inventory  of  the  room,  hung  a  set  of 
regulations  for  MM.  les  retraitants :  what  services  they 
should  attend,  when  they  were  to  tell  their  beads  or 
meditate,  and  when  they  were  to  rise  and  go  to  rest. 
At  the  foot  was  a  notable  N.  B. :  ""Le  temps  libre  est  em- 


THE  MONKS 

plqye  a  Vexamen  de  conscience,  a  la  confession,  d  faire 
de  bonnes  resolutions, ' '  etc.  To  make  good  resolutions, 
indeed !  You  might  talk  as  fruitfully  of  making  the  hair 
grow  on  your  head. 

I  had  scarce  explored  my  niche  when  Brother  Am- 
brose returned.  An  English  boarder,  it  appeared,  would 
like  to  speak  with  me.  1  professed  my  willingness,  and 
the  friar  ushered  in  a  fresh,  young  little  Irishman  of  fifty, 
a  deacon  of  the  Church,  arrayed  in  strict  canonicals,  and 
wearing  on  his  head  what,  in  default  of  knowledge,  I 
can  only  call  the  ecclesiastical  shako.  He  had  lived 
seven  years  in  retreat  at  a  convent  of  nuns  in  Belgium, 
and  now  five  at  our  Lady  of  the  Snows;  he  never  saw 
an  English  newspaper;  he  spoke  French  imperfectly, 
and  had  he  spoken  it  like  a  native,  there  was  not  much 
chance  of  conversation  where  he  dwelt.  With  this,  he 
was  a  man  eminently  sociable,  greedy  of  news,  and 
simple-minded  like  a  child.  If  I  was  pleased  to  have  a 
guide  about  the  monastery,  he  was  no  less  delighted 
to  see  an  English  face  and  hear  an  English  tongue. 

He  showed  me  his  own  room,  where  he  passed  his 
time  among  breviaries,  Hebrew  bibles,  and  the  Waverley 
novels.  Thence  he  led  me  to  the  cloisters,  into  the 
chapter-house,  through  the  vestry,  where  the  brothers' 
gowns  and  broad  straw  hats  were  hanging  up,  each  with 
his  religious  name  upon  a  board, — names  full  of  legen- 
dary suavity  and  interest,  such  as  Basil,  Hilarion,  Ra- 
phael, or  Pacifique;  into  the  library,  where  were  all  the 
works  of  VeuiUot  and  Chateaubriand,  and  the  Odes  et 
Ballades,  if  you  please,  and  even  Moliere,  to  say  nothing 
of  innumerable  fathers  and  a  great  variety  of  local  and 
general  historians.    Thence  my  good  Irishman  took  me 

199 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

round  the  workshops,  where  brothers  bake  bread,  and 
make  cart-wheels,  and  take  photographs;  where  one 
superintends  a  collection  of  curiosities,  and  another  a 
gallery  of  rabbits.  For  in  a  Trappist  monastery  each 
monk  has  an  occupation  of  his  own  choice,  apart  from 
his  religious  duties  and  the  general  labours  of  the  house. 
Each  must  sing  in  the  choir,  if  he  has  a  voice  and  ear, 
and  join  in  the  haymaking  if  he  has  a  hand  to  stir;  but 
in  his  private  hours,  although  he  must  be  occupied,  he 
may  be  occupied  on  what  he  likes.  Thus  I  was  told 
that  one  brother  was  engaged  with  literature;  while 
Father  ApoUinaris  busies  himself  in  making  roads,  and 
the  Abbot  employs  himself  in  binding  books.  It  is  not 
so  long  since  this  Abbot  was  consecrated,  by  the  way ; 
and  on  that  occasion,  by  a  special  grace,  his  mother 
was  permitted  to  enter  the  chapel  and  witness  the  cere- 
mony of  consecration.  A  proud  day  for  her  to  have  a 
son  a  mitred  abbot;  it  makes  you  glad  to  think  they  let 
her  in. 

In  all  these  journeyings  to  and  fro,  many  silent  fathers 
and  brethren  fell  in  our  way.  Usually  they  paid  no  more 
regard  to  our  passage  than  if  we  had  been  a  cloud ;  but 
sometimes  the  good  deacon  had  a  permission  to  ask  of 
them,  and  it  was  granted  by  a  peculiar  movement  of  the 
hands,  almost  like  that  of  a  dog's  paws  in  swimming,  or 
refused  by  the  usual  negative  signs,  and  in  either  case 
with  lowered  eyelids  and  a  certain  air  of  contrition,  as 
of  a  man  who  was  steering  very  close  to  evil. 

The  monks,  by  special  grace  of  their  Abbot,  were  still 
taking  two  meals  a  day ;  but  it  was  already  time  for 
their  grand  fast,  which  begins  somewhere  in  September 
and  lasts  till  Easter,  and  during  which  they  eat  but  once 


THE   MONKS 

in  the  twenty-four  hours,  and  that  at  two  in  the  after- 
noon, twelve  hours  after  they  have  begun  the  toil  and 
vigil  of  the  day.  Their  meals  are  scanty,  but  even  of 
these  they  eat  sparingly;  and  though  each  is  allowed  a 
small  carafe  of  wine,  many  refrain  from  this  indulgence. 
Without  doubt,  the  most  of  mankind  grossly  overeat 
themselves ;  our  meals  serve  not  only  for  support,  but  as 
a  hearty  and  natural  diversion  from  the  labour  of  life. 
Although  excess  may  be  hurtful,  I  should  have  thought 
this  Trappist  regimen  defective.  And  I  am  astonished, 
as  i  look  back,  at  the  freshness  of  face  and  cheerfulness 
of  manner  of  all  whom  I  beheld.  A  happier  nor  a 
healthier  company  I  should  scarce  suppose  that  I  have 
ever  seen.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  on  this  bleak  upland,  and 
with  the  incessant  occupation  of  the  monks,  life  is  of  an 
uncertain  tenure,  and  death  no  infrequent  visitor,  at  our 
Lady  of  the  Snows.  This,  at  least,  was  what  was  told  me. 
But  if  they  die  easily,  they  must  live  healthily  in  the 
mean  time,  for  they  seemed  all  firm  of  flesh  and  high  in 
colour;  and  the  only  morbid  sign  that  I  could  observe, 
an  unusual  brilliancy  of  eye,  was  one  that  served  rather 
to  increase  the  general  impression  of  vivacity  and 
strength. 

Those  with  whom  I  spoke  were  singularly  sweet- 
tempered,  with  what  I  can  only  call  a  holy  cheerfulness 
in  air  and  conversation.  There  is  a  note,  in  the  direction 
to  visitors,  telling  them  not  to  be  offended  at  the  curt 
speech  of  those  who  wait  upon  them,  since  it  is  proper 
to  monks  to  speak  little.  The  note  might  have  been 
spared;  to  a  man  the  hospitallers  were  all  brimming 
with  innocent  talk,  and,  in  my  experience  of  the  mon- 
astery, it  was  easier  to  begin  than  to  break  off  a  conver- 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

sation.  With  the  exception  oi  Father  Michael,  who  was 
a  man  of  the  world,  they  showed  themselves  full  of  kind 
and  healthy  interest  in  all  sorts  of  subjects  —  in  politics, 
in  voyages,  in  my  sleeping-sack — and  not  without  a  cer- 
tain pleasure  in  the  sound  of  their  own  voices. 

As  for  those  who  are  restricted  to  silence,  I  can  only 
wonder  how  they  bear  their  solemn  and  cheerless  iso- 
lation. And  yet,  apart  from  any  view  of  mortification, 
I  can  see  a  certain  policy,  not  only  in  the  exclusion  of 
women,  but  in  this  vow  of  silence.  I  have  had  some 
experience  of  lay  phalansteries,  of  an  artistic,  not  to  say 
a  bacchanalian,  character;  and  seen  more  than  one  asso- 
ciation easily  formed  and  yet  more  easily  dispersed. 
With  a  Cistercian  rule,  perhaps  they  might  have  lasted 
longer.  In  the  neighbourhood  of  women  it  is  but  a 
touch-and-go  association  that  can  be  formed  among  de- 
fenceless men ;  the  stronger  electricity  is  sure  to  triumph ; 
the  dreams  of  boyhood,  the  schemes  of  youth,  are  aban- 
doned after  an  interview  often  minutes,  and  the  arts  and 
sciences,  and  professional  male  jollity,  deserted  at  once 
for  two  sweet  eyes  and  a  caressing  accent.  And  next 
after  this,  the  tongue  is  the  great  divider. 

I  am  almost  ashamed  to  pursue  this  worldly  criticism 
of  a  religious  rule;  but  there  is  yet  another  point  in 
which  the  Trappist  order  appeals  to  me  as  a  model  of 
wisdom.  By  two  in  the  morning  the  clapper  goes  upon 
the  bell,  and  so  on,  hour  by  hour,  and  sometimes  quarter 
by  quarter,  till  eight,  the  hour  of  rest;  so  infmitesimally 
is  the  day  divided  among  different  occupations.  The 
man  who  keeps  rabbits,  for  example,  hurries  from  his 
hutches  to  the  chapel,  the  chapter-room,  or  the  refectory, 
all  day  long :  every  hour  he  has  an  office  to  sing,  a  duty 

202 


THE  MONKS 

to  perform;  from  two,  when  he  rises  in  the  dark,  till 
eight,  when  he  returns  to  receive  the  comfortable  gift  of 
sleep,  he  is  upon  his  feet  and  occupied  with  manifold 
and  changing  business.  I  know  many  persons,  worth 
several  thousands  in  the  year,  who  are  not  so  fortu- 
nate in  the  disposal  of  their  lives.  Into  how  many 
houses  would  not  the  note  of  the  monastery-bell,  divid- 
ing the  day  into  manageable  portions,  bring  peace  of 
mind  and  healthful  activity  of  body  ?  We  speak  of  hard- 
ships, but  the  true  hardship  is  to  be  a  dull  fool,  and 
permitted  to  mismanage  life  in  our  own  dull  and  foolish 
manner. 

From  this  point  of  view,  we  may  perhaps  better  un- 
derstand the  monk's  existence.  A  long  novitiate,  and 
every  proof  of  constancy  of  mind  and  strength  of  body 
is  required  before  admission  to  the  order;  but  I  could 
not  find  that  many  were  discouraged.  In  the  photog- 
rapher's studio,  which  figures  so  strangely  among  the 
outbuildings,  my  eye  was  attracted  by  the  portrait  of 
a  young  fellow  in  the  uniform  of  a  private  of  foot.  This 
was  one  of  the  novices,  who  came  of  the  age  for  service, 
and  marched  and  drilled  and  mounted  guard  for  the 
proper  time  among  the  garrison  of  Algiers.  Here  was 
a  man  who  had  surely  seen  both  sides  of  life  before  de- 
ciding; yet  as  soon  as  he  was  set  free  from  service  he 
returned  to  finish  his  novitiate. 

This  austere  rule  entitles  a  man  to  heaven  as  by  right. 
When  the  Trappist  sickens,  he  quits  not  his  habit;  he 
lies  in  the  bed  of  death  as  he  has  prayed  and  laboured 
in  his  frugal  and  silent  existence ;  and  when  the  Libera- 
tor comes,  at  the  very  moment,  even  before  they  have 
carried  him  in  his  robe  to  lie  his  little  last  in  the  chapel 

203 


TRAVELS   WITH   A   DONKEY 

among  continual  chantings,  joy-bells  break  forth,  as  if 
for  a  marriage,  from  the  slated  belfry,  and  proclaim 
throughout  the  neighbourhood  that  another  soul  has 
gone  to  God. 

At  night,  under  the  conduct  of  my  kind  Irishman,  I 
took  my  place  in  the  gallery  to  hear  compline  and  Salve 
Regina,  with  which  the  Cistercians  bring  every  day  to 
a  conclusion.  There  were  none  of  those  circumstances 
which  strike  the  Protestant  as  childish  or  as  tawdry  in 
the  public  offices  of  Rome.  A  stern  simplicity,  height- 
ened by  the  romance  of  the  surroundings,  spoke  directly 
to  the  heart.  I  recall  the  whitewashed  chapel,  the 
hooded  figures  in  the  choir,  the  lights  alternately  oc- 
cluded and  revealed,  the  strong  manly  singing,  the 
silence  that  ensued,  the  sight  of  cowled  heads  bowed  in 
prayer,  and  then  the  clear  trenchant  beating  of  the  bell, 
breaking  in  to  show  that  the  last  office  was  over  and 
the  hour  of  sleep  had  come;  and  when  I  remember,  I 
am  not  surprised  that  I  made  my  escape  into  the  court 
with  somewhat  whirling  fancies,  and  stood  like  a  man 
bewildered  in  the  windy  starry  night. 

But  I  was  weary ;  and  when  I  had  quieted  my  spirits 
with  Eliiabeth  Seton's  memoirs  —  a  dull  work  —  the 
cold  and  the  raving  of  the  wind  among  the  pines  —  for 
my  room  was  on  that  side  of  the  monastery  which  ad- 
joins the  woods  —  disposed  me  readily  to  slumber.  I 
was  wakened  at  black  midnight,  as  it  seemed,  though 
it  was  really  two  in  the  morning,  by  the  first  stroke 
upon  the  bell.  All  the  brothers  were  then  hurrying  to 
the  chapel ;  the  dead  in  life,  at  this  untimely  hour,  were 
already  beginning  the  uncomforted  labours  of  their  day. 
The  dead  in  life  —  there  was  a  chill  reflection.     And  the 

204 


THE  MONKS 

words  of  a  French  song  came  back  into  my  memory, 
telling  of  the  best  of  our  mixed  existence :  — 

"  Que  t'as  de  belles  filles, 
Girofle! 
Girofla! 
Que  t'as  de  belles  filles, 
L' Amour  Us  comptera  !  " 

And  I  blessed  God  that  I  was  free  to  wander,  free  to 
hope,  and  free  to  love. 


205 


THE  BOARDERS 

But  there  was  another  side  to  my  residence  at  our 
Lady  of  the  Snows.  At  this  late  season  there  were  not 
many  boarders ;  and  yet  I  was  not  alone  in  the  public 
part  of  the  monastery.  This  itself  is  hard  by  the  gate, 
with  a  small  dining-room  on  the  ground  floor,  and  a 
whole  corridor  of  cells  similar  to  mine  up-stairs.  I  have 
stupidly  forgotten  the  board  for  a  regular  retraitant;  but 
it  was  somewhere  between  three  and  five  francs  a  day, 
and  I  think  most  probably  the  first.  Chance  visitors  like 
myself  might  give  what  they  chose  as  a  free-will  offer- 
ing, but  nothing  was  demanded.  I  may  mention  that 
when  I  was  going  away,  Father  Michael  refused  twenty 
francs  as  excessive.  I  explained  the  reasoning  which 
led  me  to  offer  him  so  much;  but  even  then,  from  a 
curious  point  of  honour,  he  would  not  accept  it  with  his 
own  hand.  "  I  have  no  right  to  refuse  for  the  monas- 
tery," he  explained,  ''but  I  should  prefer  if  you  would 
give  it  to  one  of  the  brothers." 

I  had  dined  alone,  because  I  arrived  late;  but  at  sup- 
per I  found  two  other  guests.  One  was  a  country 
parish  priest,  who  had  walked  over  that  morning  from 
the  seat  of  his  cure  near  Mende  to  enjoy  four  days  of 
solitude  and  prayer.     He  was  a  grenadier  in  person, 

206 


THE   BOARDERS 

with  the  hale  color  and  circular  wrinkles  of  a  peasant; 
and  as  he  complained  much  of  how  he  had  been  im- 
peded by  his  skirts  upon  the  march,  I  have  a  vivid  fancy 
portrait  of  him,  striding  along,  upright,  big-boned,  with 
kilted  cassock,  through  the  bleak  hills  of  Gevaudan. 
The  other  was  a  short,  grizzling,  thick-set  man,  from 
forty-five  to  fifty,  dressed  in  tweed  with  a  knitted  spen- 
cer, and  the  red  ribbon  of  a  decoration  in  his  buttonhole. 
This  last  was  a  hard  person  to  classify.  He  was  an  old 
soldier,  who  had  seen  service  and  risen  to  the  rank  of 
commandant;  and  he  retained  some  of  the  brisk  deci- 
sive manners  of  the  camp.  On  the  other  hand,  as  soon 
as  his  resignation  was  accepted,  he  had  come  to  our 
Lady  of  the  Snows  as  a  boarder,  and  after  a  brief  ex- 
perience of  its  ways,  had  decided  to  remain  as  a  novice. 
Already  the  new  life  was  beginning  to  modify  his  ap- 
pearance; already  he  had  acquired  somewhat  of  the 
quiet  and  smiling  air  of  the  brethren ;  and  he  was  as  yet 
neither  an  officer  nor  a  Trappist,  but  partook  of  the 
character  of  each.  And  certainly  here  was  a  man  in  an 
interesting  nick  of  life.  Out  of  the  noise  of  cannon  and 
trumpets,  he  was  in  the  act  of  passing  into  this  still 
country  bordering  on  the  grave,  where  men  sleep  nightly 
in  their  grave-clothes,  and,  like  phantoms,  communi- 
cate by  signs. 

At  supper  we  talked  politics.  I  make  it  my  business, 
when  I  am  in  France,  to  preach  political  good-will  and 
moderation,  and  to  dwell  on  the  example  of  Poland, 
much  as  some  alarmists  in  England  dwell  on  the  ex- 
ample of  Carthage.  The  priest  and  the  Commandant 
assured  me  of  their  sympathy  with  all  I  said,  and  made  a 
heavy  sighing  over  thebitternessof  contemporary  feeling. 

207 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

"  Why,  you  cannot  say  anything  to  a  man  with  which 
he  does  not  absolutely  agree,"  said  I,  *'but  he  flies  up 
at  you  in  a  temper." 

They  both  declared  that  such  a  state  of  things  was 
antichristian. 

While  we  were  thus  agreeing,  what  should  my  tongue 
stumble  upon  but  a  word  in  praise  oi  Gambetta' s  mod- 
eration. The  old  soldier's  countenance  was  instantly 
suffused  with  blood;  with  the  palms  of  his  hands  he 
beat  the  table  like  a  naughty  child. 

"' Comment,  monsieur  ?  "  he  shouted.  ''Comment? 
Gambetta  moderate?  Will  you  dare  to  justify  these 
words  }  " 

But  the  priest  had  not  forgotten  the  tenor  of  our  talk. 
And  suddenly,  in  the  height  of  his  fury,  the  old  soldier 
found  a  warning  look  directed  on  his  face;  the  ab- 
surdity of  his  behaviour  was  brought  home  to  him  in  a 
flash ;  and  the  storm  came  to  an  abrupt  end,  without 
another  word. 

It  was  only  in  the  morning,  over  our  coffee  {Friday, 
September  2yth),  that  this  couple  found  out  I  was  a 
heretic.  I  suppose  I  had  misled  them  by  some  admir- 
ing expressions  as  to  the  monastic  life  around  us ;  and 
it  was  only  by  a  point-blank  question  that  the  truth 
came  out.  I  had  been  tolerantly  used,  both  by  simple 
Father  ApoUinaris  and  astute  Father  Michael;  and  the 
good  Irish  deacon,  when  he  heard  of  my  religious  weak- 
ness, had  only  patted  me  upon  the  shoulder  and  said, 
"You  must  be  a  Catholic  and  come  to  heaven."  But  I 
was  now  among  a  different  sect  of  orthodox.  These 
two  men  were  bitter  and  upright  and  narrow,  like  the 
worst  of  Scotsmen,  and  indeed,  upon  my  heart,  I  fancy 

208 


THE   BOARDERS 

they  were  worse.     The  priest  snorted  aloud  like  a  bat- 
tle-horse. 

"  Et  vous  pretendei  mourir  dans  cette  espece  de  crqy- 
ance?"  he  demanded;  and  there  is  no  type  used  by 
mortal  printers  large  enough  to  qualify  his  accent. 

I  humbly  indicated  that  I  had  no  design  of  changing. 

But  he  could  not  away  with  such  a  monstrous  atti- 
tude. "No,  no,"  he  cried;  "you  must  change.  You 
have  come  here,  God  has  led  you  here,  and  you  must 
embrace  the  opportunity." 

I  made  a  slip  in  policy ;  I  appealed  to  the  family  affec- 
tions, though  I  was  speaking  to  a  priest  and  a  soldier,  two 
classes  of  men  circumstantially  divorced  from  the  kind 
and  homely  ties  of  life. 

' '  Your  father  and  mother  }  "  cried  the  priest.  ' '  Very 
well ;  you  will  convert  them  in  their  turn  when  you  go 
home." 

I  think  I  see  my  father's  face !  I  would  rather  tackle 
the  Gaetulian  lion  in  his  den  than  embark  on  such  an 
enterprise  against  the  family  theologian. 

But  now  the  hunt  was  up ;  priest  and  soldier  were  in 
full  cry  for  my  conversion ;  and  the  Work  of  the  Propaga- 
tion of  the  Faith,  for  which  the  people  of  Cheylard  sub- 
scribed forty-eight  francs  ten  centimes  during  1877,  was 
being  gallantly  pursued  against  myself.  It  was  an  odd 
but  most  effective  proselytising.  They  never  sought  to 
convince  me  in  argument,  where  I  might  have  attempted 
some  defence ;  but  took  it  for  granted  that  I  was  both 
ashamed  and  terrified  at  my  position,  and  urged  me 
solely  on  the  point  of  time.  Now,  they  said,  when 
God  had  led  me  to  our  Lady  of  the  Snows,  now  was  the 
appointed  hour. 

209 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

"Do  not  be  withheld  by  false  shame,"  observed  the 
priest,  for  my  encouragement. 

For  one  who  feels  very  similarly  to  all  sects  of  reli- 
gion, and  who  has  never  been  able,  even  for  a  moment, 
to  weigh  seriously  the  merit  of  this  or  that  creed  on  the 
eternal  side  of  things,  however  much  he  may  see  to 
praise  or  blame  upon  the  secular  and  temporal  side,  the 
situation  thus  created  was  both  unfair  and  painful.  1 
committed  my  second  fault  in  tact,  and  tried  to  plead 
that  it  was  all  the  same  thing  in  the  end,  and  we  were 
all  drawing  near  by  different  sides  to  the  same  kind  and 
undiscriminating  Friend  and  Father.  That,  as  it  seems 
to  lay-spirits,  would  be  the  only  gospel  worthy  of  the 
name.  But  different  men  think  differently;  and  this 
revolutionary  aspiration  brought  down  the  priest  with 
all  the  terrors  of  the  law.  He  launched  into  harrowing 
details  of  hell.  The  damned,  he  said  —  on  the  author- 
ity of  a  little  book  which  he  had  read  not  a  week  before, 
and  which,  to  add  conviction  to  conviction,  he  had  fully 
intended  to  bring  along  with  him  in  his  pocket  —  were 
to  occupy  the  same  attitude  through  all  eternity  in  the 
midst  of  dismal  tortures.  And  as  he  thus  expatiated, 
he  grew  in  nobility  of  aspect  with  his  enthusiasm. 

As  a  result  the  pair  concluded  that  I  should  seek  out 
the  Prior,  since  the  Abbot  was  from  home,  and  lay  my 
case  immediately  before  him. 

"  Cest  mon  conseil  comme  ancien  militaire, ' '  observed 
the  Commandant ; "'  et  celui  de  monsieur  comme pretre. 

"'Out,"  added  the  cure,  sententiously  nodding; 
"comme  ancien  militaire  —  et  comme  pretre.  *' 

At  this  moment,  whilst  I  was  somewhat  embarrassed 
how  to  answer,  in  came  one  of  the  monks,  a  little  brown 

210 


THE   BOARDERS 

fellow,  as  lively  as  a  grig,  and  with  an  Italian  accent, 
who  threw  himself  at  once  into  the  contention,  but  in  a 
milder  and  more  persuasive  vein,  as  befitted  one  of  these 
pleasant  brethren.  Look  at  htm,  he  said.  The  rule  was 
very  hard;  he  would  have  dearly  liked  to  stay  in  his 
own  country,  Italy  —  it  was  well  known  how  beautiful 
it  was,  the  beautiful  Italy;  but  then  there  were  no  Trap- 
pists  in  Italy;  and  he  had  a  soul  to  save ;  and  here  he 
was. 

I  am  afraid  I  must  be  at  bottom,  what  a  cheerful  In- 
dian critic  has  dubbed  me,  *' a  faddling  hedonist;  "  for 
this  description  of  the  brother's  motives  gave  me  some- 
what of  a  shock.  I  should  have  preferred  to  think  he 
had  chosen  the  life  for  its  own  sake,  and  not  for  ulterior 
purposes ;  and  this  shows  how  profoundly  I  was  out  of 
sympathy  with  these  good  Trappists,  even  when  I  was 
doing  my  best  to  sympathise.  But  to  the  cure  the  ar- 
gument seemed  decisive. 

''Hear  that!"  he  cried.  ''And  I  have  seen  a  mar- 
quis here,  a  marquis,  a  marquis"  —  he  repeated  the 
holy  word  three  times  over — "  and  other  persons  high 
in  society ;  and  generals.  And  here,  at  your  side,  is  this 
gentleman,  who  has  been  so  many  years  in  armies  — 
decorated,  an  old  warrior.  And  here  he  is,  ready  to 
dedicate  himself  to  God." 

I  was  by  this  time  so  thoroughly  embarrassed  that  I 
pleaded  cold  feet,  and  made  my  escape  from  the  apart- 
ment. It  was  a  furious  windy  morning,  with  a  sky 
much  cleared,  and  long  and  potent  intervals  of  sunshine; 
and  I  wandered  until  dinner  in  the  wild  country  to- 
wards the  east,  sorely  staggered  and  beaten  upon  by 
the  gale,  but  rewarded  with  some  striking  views. 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

At  dinner  the  Work  of  the  Propagation  of  the  Faith 
was  recommenced,  and  on  this  occasion  still  more  dis- 
tastefully to  me.  The  priest  asked  me  many  questions 
as  to  the  contemptible  faith  of  my  fathers,  and  received 
my  replies  with  a  kind  of  ecclesiastical  titter. 

**  Your  sect,"  he  said  once;  "for  I  think  you  will  ad- 
mit it  would  be  doing  it  too  much  honour  to  call  it  a 
religion." 

"  As  you  please,  monsieur,"  said  I.  ''La parole  est  a 
votes. ' ' 

At  length  I  grew  annoyed  beyond  endurance;  and 
although  he  was  on  his  own  ground,  and,  what  is  more 
to  the  purpose,  an  old  man,  and  so  holding  a  claim  upon 
my  toleration,  I  could  not  avoid  a  protest  against  this 
uncivil  usage.     He  was  sadly  discountenanced. 

"I  assure  you,"  he  said,  "I  have  no  inclination  to 
laugh  in  my  heart.  I  have  no  other  feeling  but  interest 
in  your  soul." 

And  there  ended  my  conversion.  Honest  man!  He 
was  no  dangerous  deceiver;  but  a  country  parson,  full 
of  zeal  and  faith.  Long  may  he  tread  G^vaudan  with 
his  kilted  skirts  —  a  man  strong  to  walk  and  strong  to 
comfort  his  parishioners  in  death !  I  dare  say  he  would 
beat  bravely  through  a  snow-storm  where  his  duty 
called  him ;  and  it  is  not  always  the  most  faithful  be- 
liever who  makes  the  cunningest  apostle. 


212 


UPPER  GEVAUDAN 

{continued). 


The  bed  was  made,  the  room  wasJU, 
By  punctual  eve  the  stars  were  lit ; 
The  air  was  sweet,  the  water  ran  ; 
No  need  was  therefor  maid  or  man. 
When  we  put  up,  my  ass  and  /, 
At  God's  green  caravanserai" 

Old  Play. 


UPPER  GfiVAUDAN 

(continued) 

ACROSS  THE  GOULET 

THE  wind  fell  during  dinner,  and  the  sky  remained 
clear;  so  it  was  under  better  auspices  that  I  loaded 
Modestine  before  the  monastery-gate.  My  Irish  friend 
accompanied  me  so  far  on  the  way.  As  we  came  through 
the  wood,  there  was  Pere  ApoUinaire  hauling  his  bar- 
row ;  and  he  too  quitted  his  labours  to  go  with  me  for 
perhaps  a  hundred  yards,  holding  my  hand  between 
both  of  his  in  front  of  him.  I  parted  first  from  one  and 
then  from  the  other  with  unfeigned  regret,  but  yet  with 
the  glee  of  the  traveller  who  shakes  off  the  dust  of  one 
stage  before  hurrying  forth  upon  another.  Then  Modes- 
tine  and  1  mounted  the  course  of  the  AUier,  which  here 
led  us  back  into  Gevaudan  towards  its  sources  in  the 
forest  of  Mercoire.  It  was  but  an  inconsiderable  burn 
before  we  left  its  guidance.  Thence,  over  a  hill,  our 
way  lay  through  a  naked  plateau,  until  we  reached 
Chmserades  at  sundown. 

The  company  in  the  inn-kitchen  that  night  were  all 
men  employed  in  survey  for  one  of  the  projected  rail- 
ways. They  were  intelligent  and  conversable,  and  we 
decided  the  future  of  France  over  hot  wine,  until  the 
state  of  the  clock  frightened  us  to  rest.  There  were 
four  beds  in  the  little  up-stairs  room ;  and  we  slept  six. 

2>5 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

But  I  had  a  bed  to  myself,  and  persuaded  them  to  leave 
the  window  open. 

''He,  bourgeois;  it  est  cinq  heures!  "  was  the  cry 
that  wakened  me  in  the  morning  {Saturday,  September 
28th).  The  room  was  full  of  a  transparent  darkness, 
which  dimly  showed  me  the  other  three  beds  and  the 
five  different  nightcaps  on  the  pillows.  But  out  of  the 
window  the  dawn  was  growing  ruddy  in  a  long  belt 
over  the  hill-tops,  and  day  was  about  to  flood  the  pla- 
teau. The  hour  was  inspiriting;  and  there  seemed  a 
promise  of  calm  weather,  which  was  perfectly  fulfilled. 
I  was  soon  under  way  with  Modestine.  The  road  lay 
for  a  while  over  the  plateau,  and  then  descended  through 
a  precipitous  village  into  the  valley  of  the  Cbasse:(^ac. 
This  stream  ran  among  green  meadows,  well  hidden 
from  the  world  by  its  steep  banks ;  the  broom  was  in 
flower,  and  here  and  there  was  a  hamlet  sending  up  its 
smoke. 

At  last  the  path  crossed  the  Chasse:(ac  upon  a  bridge, 
and,  forsaking  this  deep  hollow,  set  itself  to  cross  the 
mountain  of  La  Goulet.  It  wound  up  through  Lestampes 
by  upland  fields  and  woods  of  beech  and  birch,  and 
with  every  corner  brought  me  into  an  acquaintance  with 
some  new  interest.  Even  in  the  gully  of  the  Chasse^ac 
my  ear  had  been  struck  by  a  noise  like  that  of  a  great 
bass  bell  ringing  at  the  distance  of  many  miles;  but 
this,  as  I  continued  to  mount  and  draw  nearer  to  it, 
seemed  to  change  in  character,  and  I  found  at  length 
that  it  came  from  some  one  leading  flocks  afield  to  the 
note  of  a  rural  horn.  The  narrow  street  of  Lestampes 
stood  full  of  sheep,  from  wall  to  wall  —  black  sheep 
and  white,  bleating  like  the  birds  in  spring,  and  each 

216 


ACROSS  THE  GOULET 

one  accompanying  himself  upon  the  sheep-bell  round 
his  neck.  It  made  a  pathetic  concert,  all  in  treble.  A 
little  higher,  and  I  passed  a  pair  of  men  in  a  tree  with 
pruning-hooks,  and  one  of  them  was  singing  the  music 
of  a  bourree.  Still  further,  and  when  I  was  already 
threading  the  birches,  the  crowing  of  cocks  came  cheer- 
fully up  to  my  ears,  and  along  with  that  the  voice  of 
a  flute  discoursing  a  deliberate  and  plaintive  air  from 
one  of  the  upland  villages.  I  pictured  to  myself  some 
grizzled,  apple-cheeked,  country  schoolmaster  fluting 
in  his  bit  of  a  garden  in  the  clear  autumn  sunshine. 
All  these  beautiful  and  interesting  sounds  filled  my  heart 
with  an  unwonted  expectation ;  and  it  appeared  to  me 
that,  once  past  this  range  which  I  was  mounting,  I  should 
descend  into  the  garden  of  the  world.  Nor  was  I  de- 
ceived, for  I  was  now  done  with  rains  and  winds  and  a 
bleak  country.  The  first  part  of  my  journey  ended  here ; 
and  this  was  like  an  induction  of  sweet  sounds  into  the 
other  and  more  beautiful. 

There  are  other  degrees  oifeyness,  as  of  punishment, 
besides  the  capital;  and  I  was  now  led  by  my  good 
spirits  into  an  adventure  which  I  relate  in  the  interest  of 
future  donkey-drivers.  The  road  zigzagged  so  widely 
on  the  hillside  that  I  chose  a  short  cut  by  map  and  com- 
pass, and  struck  through  the  dwarf  woods  to  catch  the 
road  again  upon  a  higher  level.  It  was  my  one  serious 
conflict  with  Modestine.  She  would  none  of  my  short 
cut;  she  turned  in  my  face,  she  backed,  she  reared;  she, 
whom  I  had  hitherto  imagined  to  be  dumb,  actually 
brayed  with  a  loud  hoarse  flourish,  like  a  cock  crowing 
for  the  dawn.  I  plied  the  goad  with  one  hand ;  with 
the  other,  so  steep  was  the  ascent,  I  had  to  hold  on  the 

217 


TRAVELS   WITH   A   DONKEY 

pack-saddle.  Half  a  dozen  times  she  was  nearly  over 
backwards  on  the  top  of  me;  half  a  dozen  times,  from 
sheer  weariness  of  spirit,  I  was  nearly  giving  it  up,  and 
leading  her  down  again  to  follow  the  road.  But  I  took 
the  thing  as  a  wager,  and  fought  it  through.  I  was  sur- 
prised, as  I  went  on  my  way  again,  by  what  appeared 
to  be  chill  rain-drops  falling  on  my  hand,  and  more  than 
once  looked  up  in  wonder  at  the  cloudless  sky.  But  it 
was  only  sweat  which  came  dropping  from  my  brow. 
Over  the  summit  of  the  Goulet  there  was  no  marked 
road  —  only  upright  stones  posted  from  space  to  space 
to  guide  the  drovers.  The  turf  underfoot  was  springy 
and  well  scented.  I  had  no  company  but  a  lark  or  two, 
and  met  but  one  bullock-cart  between  Lestampes  and 
Bleymard.  In  front  of  me  I  saw  a  shallow  valley,  and 
beyond  that  the  range  of  the  Latere,  sparsely  wooded 
and  well  enough  modelled  in  the  flanks,  but  straight 
and  dull  in  outline.  There  was  scarce  a  sign  of  culture; 
only  about  Bleymard,  the  white  high-road  from  yiUe- 
fort  to  Mende  traversed  a  range  of  meadows,  set  with 
spiry  poplars,  and  sounding  from  side  to  side  with  the 
bells  of  flocks  and  herds. 


ai8 


A  NIGHT  AMONG  THE  PINES 

From  Bleymard  after  dinner,  although  it  was  already; 
late,  I  set  out  to  scale  a  portion  of  the  Loiere.  An  ill- 
marked  stony  drove-road  guided  me  forward ;  and  I  met 
nearly  half  a  dozen  bullock-carts  descending  from  the 
woods,  each  laden  with  a  whole  pine-tree  for  the  win- 
ter's firing.  At  the  top  of  the  woods,  which  do  not 
climb  very  high  upon  this  cold  ridge,  I  struck  leftward 
by  a  path  among  the  pines,  until  I  hit  on  a  dell  of  green 
turf,  where  a  streamlet  made  a  little  spout  over  some 
stones  to  serve  me  for  a  water-tap.  "In  a  more  sacred 
or  sequestered  bower — nor  nymph  nor  faunus  haunted. " 
The  trees  were  not  old,  but  they  grew  thickly  round  the 
glade:  there  was  no  outlook,  except  north-eastward 
upon  distant  hill-tops,  or  straight  upward  to  the  sky; 
and  the  encampment  felt  secure  and  private  like  a  room. 
By  the  time  I  had  made  my  arrangements  and  fed  Mo- 
destine,  the  day  was  already  beginning  to  decline.  I 
buckled  myself  to  the  knees  into  my  sack  and  made 
a  hearty  meal;  and  as  soon  as  the  sun  went  down,  I 
pulled  my  cap  over  my  eyes  and  fell  asleep. 

Night  is  a  dead  monotonous  period  under  a  roof;  but 
in  the  open  world  it  passes  lightly,  with  its  stars  and 
dews  and  perfumes,  and  the  hours  are  marked  by 

219 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

changes  in  the  face  of  Nature.  What  seems  a  kind  of 
temporal  death  to  people  choked  between  walls  and 
curtains,  is  only  a  light  and  living  slumber  to  the  man 
who  sleeps  afield.  All  night  long  he  can  hear  Nature 
breathing  deeply  and  freely ;  even  as  she  takes  her  rest 
she  turns  and  smiles ;  and  there  is  one  stirring  hour  un- 
known to  those  who  dwell  in  houses,  when  a  wakeful 
influence  goes  abroad  over  the  sleeping  hemisphere,  and 
all  the  outdoor  world  are  on  their  feet.  It  is  then  that 
the  cock  first  crows,  not  this  time  to  announce  the 
dawn,  but  like  a  cheerful  watchman  speeding  the  course 
of  night.  Cattle  awake  on  the  meadows ;  sheep  break 
their  fast  on  dewy  hillsides,  and  change  to  a  new  lair 
among  the  ferns;  and  houseless  men,  who  have  lain 
down  with  the  fowls,  open  their  dim  eyes  and  behold 
the  beauty  of  the  night. 

At  what  inaudible  summons,  at  what  gentle  touch  of 
Nature,  are  all  these  sleepers  thus  recalled  in  the  same 
hour  to  life  ?  Do  the  stars  rain  down  an  influence,  or 
do  we  share  some  thrill  of  mother  earth  below  our  rest- 
ing bodies  ?  Even  shepherds  and  old  country-folk,  who 
are  the  deepest  read  in  these  arcana,  have  not  a  guess  as 
to  the  means  or  purpose  of  this  nightly  resurrection. 
Towards  two  in  the  morning  they  declare  the  thing 
takes  place ;  and  neither  know  nor  inquire  further.  And 
at  least  it  is  a  pleasant  incident.  We  are  disturbed  in 
our  slumber  only,  like  the  luxurious  Montaigne,  '  *  that 
we  may  the  better  and  more  sensibly  relish  it."  We 
have  a  moment  to  look  upon  the  stars,  and  there  is  a 
special  pleasure  for  some  minds  in  the  reflection  that  we 
share  the  impulse  with  all  out-door  creatures  in  our 
neighbourhood,  that  we  have  escaped  out  of  the  Bastille 


A  NIGHT  AMONG  THE  PINES 

of  civilisation,  and  are  become,  for  the  time  being,  a 
mere  kindly  animal  and  a  sheep  of  Nature's  flock. 

When  that  hour  came  to  me  among  the  pines,  I  wak- 
ened thirsty.  My  tin  was  standing  by  me  half  full  of 
water.  I  emptied  it  at  a  draught;  and  feeling  broad 
awake  after  this  internal  cold  aspersion,  sat  upright  to 
make  a  cigarette.  The  stars  were  clear,  coloured,  and 
jewel-like,  but  not  frosty.  A  faint  silvery  vapour  stood 
for  the  Milky  Way.  All  around  me  the  black  fir-points 
stood  upright  and  stock-still.  By  the  whiteness  of  the 
pack-saddle,  I  could  see  Modestine  walking  round  and 
round  at  the  length  of  her  tether;  I  could  hear  her  stead- 
ily munching  at  the  sward ;  but  there  was  not  another 
sound,  save  the  indescribable  quiet  talk  of  the  runnel 
over  the  stones.  I  lay  lazily  smoking  and  studying  the 
colour  of  the  sky,  as  we  call  the  void  of  space,  from 
where  it  showed  a  reddish  gray  behind  the  pines  to 
where  it  showed  a  glossy  blue-black  between  the  stars. 
As  if  to  be  more  like  a  pedlar,  I  wear  a  silver  ring.  This 
I  could  see  faintly  shining  as  I  raised  or  lowered  the 
cigarette ;  and  at  each  whiff  the  inside  of  my  hand  was 
illuminated,  and  became  for  a  second  the  highest  light 
in  the  landscape. 

A  faint  wind,  more  like  a  moving  coolness  than  a 
stream  of  air,  passed  down  the  glade  from  time  to  time; 
so  that  even  in  my  great  chamber  the  air  was  being  re- 
newed all  night  long.  I  thought  with  horror  of  the  inn 
2X  Chasserades  and  the  congregated  nightcaps;  with 
horror  of  the  nocturnal  prowesses  of  clerks  and  students, 
of  hot  theatres  and  pass-keys  and  close  rooms.  I  have 
not  often  enjoyed  a  more  serene  possession  of  myself, 
nor  felt  more  independent  of  material  aids.     The  outer 

221 


TRAVELS  WITH  A   DONKEY 

world,  from  which  we  cower  into  our  houses,  seemed 
after  all  a  gentle  habitable  place ;  and  night  after  night  a 
man's  bed,  it  seemed,  was  laid  and  waiting  for  him  in 
the  fields,  where  God  keeps  an  open  house.  I  thought 
1  had  re-discovered  one  of  those  truths  which  are  re- 
vealed to  savages  and  hid  from  political  economists :  at 
the  least,  I  had  discovered  a  new  pleasure  for  myself. 
And  yet  even  while  I  was  exulting  in  my  solitude  I  be- 
came aware  of  a  strange  lack.  I  wished  a  companion 
to  lie  near  me  in  the  starlight,  silent  and  not  moving,  but 
ever  within  touch.  For  there  is  a  fellowship  more  quiet 
even  than  solitude,  and  which,  rightly  understood,  is 
solitude  made  perfect.  '  And  to  live  out  of  doors  with  the 
woman  a  man  loves  is  of  all  lives  the  most  complete 
and  free. 

As  I  thus  lay,  between  content  and  longing,  a  faint 
noise  stole  towards  me  through  the  pines.  I  thought, 
at  first,  it  was  the  crowing  of  cocks  or  the  barking  of 
dogs  at  some  very  distant  farm ;  but  steadily  and  gradu- 
ally it  took  articulate  shape  in  my  ears,  until  I  became 
aware  that  a  passenger  was  going  by  upon  the  high- 
road in  the  valley,  and  singing  loudly  as  he  went. 
There  was  more  of  good-will  than  grace  in  his  perform- 
ance; but  he  trolled  with  ample  lungs;  and  the  sound 
of  his  voice  took  hold  upon  the  hillside  and  set  the  air 
shaking  in  the  leafy  glens.  I  have  heard  people  passing 
by  night  in  sleeping  cities;  some  of  them  sang;  one,  I 
remember,  played  loudly  on  the  bagpipes.  I  have  heard 
the  rattle  of  a  cart  or  carriage  spring  up  suddenly  after 
hours  of  stillness,  and  pass,  for  some  minutes,  within 
the  range  of  my  hearing  as  I  lay  abed.  There  is  a  ro- 
mance about  all  who  are  abroad  in  the  black  hours,  and 


A  NIGHT  AMONG  THE  PINES 

with  something  of  a  thrill  we  try  to  guess  their  business. 
But  here  the  romance  was  double :  first,  this  glad  pas- 
senger, lit  internally  with  wine,  who  sent  up  his  voice 
in  music  through  the  night;  and  then  I,  on  the  other 
hand,  buckled  into  my  sack,  and  smoking  alone  in  the 
pine-woods  between  four  and  five  thousand  feet  to- 
wards the  stars. 

When  1  awoke  again  {Sunday,  29th  September),  many 
of  the  stars  had  disappeared ;  only  the  stronger  com- 
panions of  the  night  still  burned  visibly  overhead ;  and 
away  towards  the  east  I  saw  a  faint  haze  of  light  upon 
the  horizon,  such  as  had  been  the  Milky  Way  when  I 
was  last  awake.  Day  was  at  hand.  I  lit  my  lantern, 
and  by  its  glowworm  light  put  on  my  boots  and  gait- 
ers ;  then  I  broke  up  some  bread  for  Modestine,  filled  my 
can  at  the  water-tap,  and  lit  my  spirit-lamp  to  boil  my- 
self some  chocolate.  The  blue  darkness  lay  long  in  the 
glade  where  I  had  so  sweetly  slumbered ;  but  soon  there 
was  a  broad  streak  of  orange  melting  into  gold  along  the 
mountain-tops  of  ^tvarais,  A  solemn  glee  possessed 
my  mind  at  this  gradual  and  lovely  coming  in  of 
day.  I  heard  the  runnel  with  delight;  I  looked  round 
me  for  something  beautiful  and  unexpected;  but  the 
still  black  pine-trees,  the  hollow  glade,  the  munching 
ass,  remained  unchanged  in  figure.  Nothing  had  al- 
tered but  the  light,  and  that,  indeed,  shed  over  all  a 
spirit  of  life  and  of  breathing  peace,  and  moved  me  to  a 
strange  exhilaration. 

I  drank  my  water  chocolate,  which  was  hot  if  it  was 
not  rich,  and  strolled  here  and  there,  and  up  and  down 
abdut  the  glade.  While  I  was  thus  delaying,  a  gush  of 
steady  wind,  as  long  as  a  heavy  sigh,  poured  direct  out 

223 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

of  the  quarter  of  the  morning.  It  was  cold,  and  set  me 
sneezing.  The  trees  near  at  hand  tossed  their  black 
plumes  in  its  passage ;  and  I  could  see  the  thin  distant 
spires  of  pine  along  the  edge  of  the  hill  rock  slightly  to 
and  fro  against  the  golden  east.  Ten  minutes  after,  the 
sunlight  spread  at  a  gallop  along  the  hillside,  scattering 
shadows  and  sparkles,  and  the  day  had  come  com- 
pletely. 

1  hastened  to  prepare  my  pack,  and  tackle  the  steep 
ascent  that  lay  before  me;  but  I  had  something  on  my 
mind.  It  was  only  a  fancy ;  yet  a  fancy  will  sometimes  be 
importunate.  I  had  been  most  hospitably  received  and 
punctually  served  in  my  green  caravanserai.  The  room 
was  airy,  the  water  excellent,  and  the  dawn  had  called 
me  to  a  moment.  I  say  nothing  of  the  tapestries  or  the 
inimitable  ceiling,  nor  yet  of  the  view  which  I  com- 
manded from  the  windows ;  but  I  felt  I  was  in  some 
one's  debt  for  all  this  liberal  entertainment.  And  so  it 
pleased  me,  in  a  half-laughing  way,  to  leave  pieces  of 
money  on  the  turf  as  I  went  along,  until  I  had  left  enough 
for  my  night's  lodging.  I  trust  they  did  not  fall  to  some 
rich  and  churlish  drover. 


224 


THE  COUNTRY  OF  THE  CAMISARDS 


We  travelled  in  the  print  of  olden  wars  ; 

Yet  all  the  land  was  green  ; 

A  nd  love  we  found,  attd  peace. 

Where  fire  and  war  had  been. 
They  pass  and  smile,  the  children  oftJu  sword-^ 

No  more  the  sword  they  wield ; 

And  O,  how  deep  the  com 

Along  the  battlefield!  " 

W.  P.  Bannatyne. 


THE  COUNTRY  OF  THE  CAMISARDS 

ACROSS  THE  LOZ^RE 

THE  track  that  I  had  followed  in  the  evening  soon 
died  out,  and  I  continued  to  follow  over  a  bald  turf 
ascent  a  row  of  stone  pillars,  such  as  had  conducted  me 
across  the  Goulet.  It  was  already  warm.  I  tied  my 
jacket  on  the  pack,  and  walked  in  my  knitted  waistcoat. 
Modestine  herself  was  in  high  spirits,  and  broke  of  her 
own  accord,  for  the  first  time  in  my  experience,  into  a 
jolting  trot  that  sent  the  oats  swashing  in  the  pocket  of 
my  coat.  The  view,  back  upon  the  northern  Gtvaudan, 
extended  with  every  step;  scarce  a  tree,  scarce  a  house, 
appeared  upon  the  fields  of  wild  hill  that  ran  north,  east, 
and  west,  all  blue  and  gold  in  the  haze  and  sunlight  of 
the  morning.  A  multitude  of  little  birds  kept  sweeping 
and  twittering  about  my  path ;  they  perched  on  the  stone 
pillars,  they  pecked  and  strutted  on  the  turf,  and  I  saw 
them  circle  in  volleys  in  the  blue  air,  and  show,  from 
time  to  time,  translucent  flickering  wings  between  the 
sun  and  me. 

Almost  from  the  first  moment  of  my  march,  a  faint 
large  noise,  like  a  distant  surf,  had  filled  my  ears.  Some- 
times I  was  tempted  to  think  it  the  voice  of  a  neighbour- 
ing waterfall,  and  sometimes  a  subjective  result  of  the 
utter  stillness  of  the  hill.    But  as  I  continued  to  advance, 

227 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

the  noise  increased  and  became  like  the  hissing  of  an 
enormous  tea-urn,  and  at  the  same  time  breaths  of  cool 
air  began  to  reach  me  from  the  direction  of  the  summit. 
At  length  I  understood.  It  was  blowing  stiffly  from  the 
south  upon  the  other  slope  of  the  Lo^ere,  and  every  step 
that  I  took  I  was  drawing  nearer  to  the  wind. 

Although  it  had  been  long  desired,  it  was  quite  unex- 
pectedly at  last  that  my  eyes  rose  above  the  summit.  A 
step  that  seemed  no  way  more  decisive  than  many  other 
steps  that  had  preceded  it  —  and,  'Mike  stout  Corte^ 
when,  with  eagle  eyes,  he  stared  on  the  Pacific,"  I 
took  possession,  in  my  own  name,  of  a  new  quarter  of 
the  world.  For  behold,  instead  of  the  gross  turf  rampart 
I  had  been  mounting  for  so  long,  a  view  into  the  hazy 
air  of  heaven,  and  a  land  of  intricate  blue  hills  below  my 
feet. 

The  Lo^ere  lies  nearly  east  and  west,  cutting  Gdvaii- 
dan  into  two  unequal  parts ;  its  highest  point,  this  Pic 
de  Finiels,  on  which  1  was  then  standing,  rises  upwards 
of  five  thousand  six  hundred  feet  above  the  sea,  and  in 
clear  weather  commands  a  view  over  all  lower  Langue- 
doc  to  the  Mediterranean  Sea.  I  have  spoken  with  peo- 
ple who  either  pretended  or  believed  that  they  had  seen, 
from  the  Pic  de  Finiels,  white  ships  sailing  by  Mont- 
pellier  and  Cette.  Behind  was  the  upland  northern  coun- 
try through  which  my  way  had  lain,  peopled  by  a  dull 
race,  without  wood,  without  much  grandeur  of  hill- 
form,  and  famous  in  the  past  for  little  beside  wolves. 
But  in  front  of  me,  half-veiled  in  sunny  haze,  lay  a 
new  Gdvaudan,  rich,  picturesque,  illustrious  for  stirring 
events.  Speaking  largely,  1  was  in  the  C^vennes  at 
Monastier,  and  during  all  my  journey;   but  there  is  a 

228 


ACROSS  THE   LOZERE 

Strict  and  local  sense  in  which  only  this  confused  and 
shaggy  country  at  my  feet  has  any  title  to  the  name,  and 
in  this  sense  the  peasantry  employ  the  word.  These  are 
the  Cevennes  with  an  emphasis :  the  Cevennes  of  the 
Cevenncs.  In  that  undecipherable  labyrinth  of  hills,  a 
war  of  bandits,  a  war  of  wild  beasts,  raged  for  two 
years  between  the  Grand  Monarch  with  all  his  troops 
and  marshals  on  the  one  hand,  and  a  few  thousand 
Protestant  mountaineers  upon  the  other.  A  hundred  and 
eighty  years  ago,  the  Camisards  held  a  station  even  on 
the  Loiere,  where  I  stood;  they  had  an  organisation, 
arsenals,  a  military  and  religious  hierarchy ;  their  affairs 
were  *'  the  discourse  of  every  coffee-house  "  in  London; 
England  sent  fleets  in  their  support ;  their  leaders  pro- 
phesied and  murdered ;  with  colours  and  drums,  and  the 
singing  of  old  French  psalms,  their  bands  sometimes 
affronted  daylight,  marched  before  walled  cities,  and 
dispersed  the  generals  of  the  king;  and  sometimes  at 
night,  or  in  masquerade,  possessed  themselves  of  strong 
castles,  and  avenged  treachery  upon  their  allies  and 
cruelty  upon  their  foes.  There,  a  hundred  and  eighty 
years  ago,  was  the  chivalrous  Roland, ''  Count  and  Lord 
Roland,  generalissimo  of  the  Protestants  in  France, ' ' 
grave,  silent,  imperious,  pock-marked  ex-dragoon, 
whom  a  lady  followed  in  his  wanderings  out  of  love. 
There  was  Cavalier,  a  baker's  apprentice  with  a  genius 
for  war,  elected  brigadier  of  Camisards  at  seventeen,  to 
die  at  fifty-five  the  English  governor  oi  Jersey.  There 
again  was  Castanet,  a  partisan  leader  in  a  voluminous 
peruke  and  with  a  taste  for  controversial  divinity. 
Strange  generals,  who  moved  apart  to  take  counsel 
with  the  God  of  Hosts,  and  fled  or  offered  battle,  set 

229 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

sentinels  or  slept  in  an  unguarded  camp,  as  the  Spirit 
whispered  to  their  hearts!  And  there,  to  follow  these 
and  other  leaders,  was  the  rank  and  file  of  prophets  and 
disciples,  bold,  patient,  indefatigable,  hardy  to  run  upon 
the  mountains,  cheering  their  rough  life  with  psalms, 
eager  to  fight,  eager  to  pray,  listening  devoutly  to  the 
oracles  of  brainsick  children,  and  mystically  putting  a 
grain  of  wheat  among  the  pewter  balls  with  which  they 
charged  their  muskets. 

I  had  travelled  hitherto  through  a  dull  district,  and  in 
the  track  of  nothing  more  notable  than  the  child-eating 
Beast  of  Gevaudan,  the  Napoleon  Buonaparte  of  wolves. 
But  now  I  was  to  go  down  into  the  scene  of  a  romantic 
chapter  —  or,  better,  a  romantic  foot-note  —  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  world.  What  was  left  of  all  this  bygone 
dust  and  heroism  ?  I  was  told  that  Protestantism  still 
survived  in  this  head  seat  of  Protestant  resistance;  so 
much  the  priest  himself  had  told  me  in  the  monastery 
parlour.  But  I  had  yet  to  learn  if  it  were  a  bare  survival, 
or  a  lively  and  generous  tradition.  Again,  if  in  the 
northern  Cevennes  the  people  are  narrow  in  religious 
judgments,  and  more  filled  with  zeal  than  charity,  what 
was  1  to  look  for  in  this  land  of  persecution  and  reprisal 
—  in  a  land  where  the  tyranny  of  the  Church  produced 
the  Camisard  rebellion,  and  the  terror  of  the  Camisards 
threw  the  Catholic  peasantry  into  legalised  revolt  upon 
the  other  side,  so  that  Camisard  and  Florentin  skulked 
for  each  other's  lives  among  the  mountains  ? 

Just  on  the  brow  of  the  hill,  where  I  paused  to  look 
before  me,  the  series  of  stone  pillars  came  abruptly  to 
an  end;  and  only  a  little  below,  a  sort  of  track  appeared 
and  began  to  go  down  a  breakneck  slope,  turning  like 

230 


ACROSS  THE  LOZfiRE 

a  corkscrew  as  it  went.  It  led  into  a  valley  between 
falling  hills,  stubbly  with  rocks  like  a  reaped  field  of 
corn,  and  floored  further  down  with  green  meadows. 
I  followed  the  track  with  precipitation ;  the  steepness  of 
the  slope,  the  continual  agile  turning  of  the  line  of  de- 
scent, and  the  old  unwearied  hope  of  finding  something 
new  in  a  new  country,  all  conspired  to  lend  me  wings. 
Yet  a  little  lower  and  a  stream  began,  collecting  itself 
together  out  of  many  fountains,  and  soon  making  a  glad 
noise  among  the  hills.  Sometimes  it  would  cross  the 
track  in  a  bit  of  waterfall,  with  a  pool,  in  which  Modes- 
tine  refreshed  her  feet. 

The  whole  descent  is  like  a  dream  to  me,  so  rapidly 
was  it  accomplished.  I  had  scarcely  left  the  summit  ere 
the  valley  had  closed  round  my  path,  and  the  sun  beat 
upon  me,  walking  in  a  stagnant  lowland  atmosphere. 
The  track  became  a  road,  and  went  up  and  down  in 
easy  undulations.  I  passed  cabin  after  cabin,  but  all 
seemed  deserted ;  and  I  saw  not  a  human  creature,  nor 
heard  any  sound  except  that  of  the  stream.  I  was,  how- 
ever, in  a  different  country  from  the  day  before.  The 
stony  skeleton  of  the  world  was  here  vigorously  dis- 
played to  sun  and  air.  The  slopes  were  steep  and 
changeful.  Oak-trees  clung  along  the  hills,  well  grown, 
wealthy  in  leaf,  and  touched  by  the  autumn  with  strong 
and  luminous  colours.  Here  and  there  another  stream 
would  fall  in  from  the  right  or  the  left,  down  a  gorge  of 
snow-white  and  tumultuary  boulders.  The  river  in 
the  bottom  (for  it  was  rapidly  growing  a  river,  collect- 
ing on  all  hands  as  it  trotted  on  its  way)  here  foamed 
awhile  in  desperate  rapids,  and  there  lay  in  pools  of  the 
most  enchanting  sea-green  shot  with  watery  browns. 

231 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

As  far  as  I  have  gone,  I  have  never  seen  a  river  of  so 
changeful  and  delicate  a  hue ;  crystal  was  not  more  clear, 
the  meadows  were  not  by  half  so  green ;  and  at  every 
pool  I  saw  I  felt  a  thrill  of  longing  to  be  out  of  these  hot, 
dusty,  and  material  garments,  and  bathe  my  naked  body 
in  the  mountain  air  and  water.  All  the  time  as  I  went 
on  I  never  forgot  it  was  the  Sabbath ;  the  stillness  was 
a  perpetual  reminder;  and  I  heard  in  spirit  the  church- 
bells  clamouring  all  over  Europe,  and  the  psalms  of  a 
thousand  churches. 

At  length  a  human  sound  struck  upon  my  ear — a  cry 
strangely  modulated  between  pathos  and  derision ;  and 
looking  across  the  valley,  I  saw  a  little  urchin  sitting  in 
a  meadow,  with  his  hands  about  his  knees,  and  dwarfed 
to  almost  comical  smallness  by  the  distance.  But  the 
rogue  had  picked  me  out  as  I  went  down  the  road,  from 
oak-wood  on  to  oak-wood,  driving  Modestine;  and  he 
made  me  the  compliments  of  the  new  country  in  this 
tremulous  high-pitched  salutation.  And  as  all  noises 
are  lovely  and  natural  at  a  sufficient  distance,  this  also, 
coming  through  so  much  clean  hill  air  and  crossing  all 
the  green  valley,  sounded  pleasant  to  my  ear,  and  seemed 
a  thing  rustic,  like  the  oaks  or  the  river. 

A  little  after,  the  stream  that  I  was  following  fell  into 
the  Tarn,  at  Pont  de  Montvert  of  bloody  memory. 


2^2 


PONT  DE  MONTVERT 

One  of  the  first  things  I  encountered  in  Pont  de  Mont- 
vert  was,  if  I  remember  rightly,  the  Protestant  temple ; 
but  this  was  but  the  type  of  other  novelties.  A  subtle 
atmosphere  distinguishes  a  town  in  England  from  a 
town  in  France,  or  even  in  Scotland.  At  Carlisle  you 
can  see  you  are  in  one  country ;  at  Dumfries,  thirty 
miles  away,  you  are  as  sure  that  you  are  in  the  other.  I 
should  fmd  it  difficult  to  tell  in  what  particulars  Pontde 
Montvert  differed  from  Monastier  or  Langogne,  or  even 
Bleymard ;  but  the  difference  existed,  and  spoke  elo- 
quently to  the  eyes.  The  place,  with  its  houses,  its 
lanes,  its  glaring  river-bed,  wore  an  indescribable  air  of 
the  South. 

All  was  Sunday  bustle  in  the  streets  and  in  the  pub- 
lic-house, as  all  had  been  Sabbath  peace  among  the 
mountains.  There  must  have  been  near  a  score  of  us 
at  dinner  by  eleven  before  noon ;  and  after  I  had  eaten 
and  drunken,  and  sat  writing  up  my  journal,  I  suppose 
as  many  more  came  dropping  in  one  after  another,  or 
by  twos  and  threes.  In  crossing  the  Lo^dre  I  had  not 
only  come  among  new  natural  features,  but  moved  into 
the  territory  of  a  different  race.  These  people,  as  they 
hurriedly  despatched  their  viands  in  an  intricate  sword- 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

play  of  knives,  questioned  and  answered  me  with  a  de- 
gree of  intelligence  which  excelled  all  that  I  had  met, 
except  among  the  railway  folk  at  Chasserades.  They 
had  open  telling  faces,  and  were  lively  both  in  speech 
and  manner.  They  not  only  entered  thoroughly  into 
the  spirit  of  my  little  trip,  but  more  than  one  declared, 
if  he  were  rich  enough,  he  would  like  to  set  forth  on 
such  another." 

Even  physically  there  was  a  pleasant  change.  I  had 
not  seen  a  pretty  woman  since  I  left  Monastier,  and  there 
but  one.  Now  of  the  three  who  sat  down  with  me  to 
dinner,  one  was  certainly  not  beautiful  —  a  poor  timid 
thing  of  forty,  quite  troubled  at  this  roaring  table  d'hote, 
whom  I  squired  and  helped  to  wine,  and  pledged  and 
tried  generally  to  encourage,  with  quite  a  contrary  effect; 
but  the  other  two,  both  married,  were  both  more  hand- 
some than  the  average  of  women.  And  Clarisse? 
What  shall  I  say  of  Clarisse  ?  She  waited  the  table  with 
a  heavy  placable  nonchalance,  like  a  performing  cow; 
her  great  gray  eyes  were  steeped  in  amourous  languor; 
her  features,  although  fleshy,  were  of  an  original  and 
accurate  design ;  her  mouth  had  a  curl ;  her  nostril  spoke 
of  dainty  pride ;  her  cheek  fell  into  strange  and  interest- 
ing lines.  It  was  a  face  capable  of  strong  emotion,  and, 
with  training,  it  offered  the  promise  of  delicate  senti- 
ment. It  seemed  pitiful  to  see  so  good  a  model  left  to 
country  admirers  and  a  country  way  of  thought.  Beauty 
should  at  least  have  touched  society,  then,  in  a  moment, 
it  throws  off  a  weight  that  lay  upon  it,  it  becomes  con- 
scious of  itself,  it  puts  on  an  elegance,  learns  a  gait  and 
a  carriage  of  the  head,  and,  in  a  moment,  patet  dea. 
Before  I  left  I  assured  Clarisse  of  my  hearty  admiration. 

234 


PONT   DE  MONTVERT 

She  took  it  like  milk,  without  embarrassment  or  won- 
der, merely  looking  at  me  steadily  with  her  great  eyes ; 
and  I  own  the  result  upon  myself  was  some  confusion. 
If  Clarisse  could  read  English,  I  should  not  dare  to  add 
that  her  figure  was  unworthy  of  her  face.  Hers  was  a 
case  for  stays ;  but  that  may  perhaps  grow  better  as  she 
gets  up  in  years. 

Pont  de  Montvert,  or  Greenhill  Bridge,  as  we  might 
say  at  home,  is  a  place  memorable  in  the  story  of  the 
Camisards.  It  was  here  that  the  war  broke  out;  here 
that  those  southern  Covenanters  slew  their  Archbishop 
Sharpe.  The  persecution  on  the  one  hand,  the  febrile 
enthusiasm  on  the  other,  are  almost  equally  difficult  to 
understand  in  these  quiet  modern  days,  and  with  our 
easy  modern  beliefs  and  disbeliefs.  The  Protestants 
were  one  and  all  beside  their  right  minds  with  zeal  and 
sorrow.  They  were  all  prophets  and  prophetesses. 
Children  at  the  breast  would  exhort  their  parents  to  good 
works.  "A  child  of  fifteen  months  at  Quissac  spoke 
from  its  mother's  arms,  agitated  and  sobbing,  distinctly 
and  with  a  loud  voice."  Marshal  l^illars  has  seen  a 
town  where  all  the  women  ''seemed  possessed  by  the 
devil,"  and  had  trembling  fits,  and  uttered  prophecies 
publicly  upon  the  streets.  A  prophetess  of  Vivarais 
was  hanged  at  MontpeUier  because  blood  flowed  from 
her  eyes  and  nose,  and  she  declared  that  she  was  weep- 
ing tears  of  blood  for  the  misfortunes  of  the  Protestants. 
And  it  was  not  only  women  and  children.  Stalwart 
dangerous  fellows,  used  to  swing  the  sickle  or  to  wield 
the  forest  axe,  were  likewise  shaken  with  strange  par- 
oxysms, and  spoke  oracles  with  sobs  and  streaming 
tears.     A  persecution  unsurpassed  in  violence  had  lasted 

235 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

near  a  score  of  years,  and  this  was  the  result  upon  the 
persecuted;  hanging,  burning,  breaking  on  the  wheel, 
had  been  vain ;  the  dragoons  had  left  their  hoof-marks 
over  all  the  country-side;  there  were  men  rowing  in  the 
galleys,  and  women  pining  in  the  prisons  of  the  Church; 
and  not  a  thought  was  changed  in  the  heart  of  any  up- 
right Protestant. 

Now  the  head  and  forefront  of  the  persecution  —  after 
Lamoignon  de  Bavile  —  Francois  de  Langlade  du  Chayla 
(pronounced  Cheila),  Archpriest  of  the  Cevennes  and 
Inspector  of  Missions  in  the  same  country,  had  a  house 
in  which  he  sometimes  dwelt  in  the  town  of  Pont  de 
Montvert.  He  was  a  conscientious  person,  who  seems 
to  have  been  intended  by  nature  for  a  pirate,  and  now 
fifty-five,  an  age  by  which  a  man  has  learned  all  the 
moderation  of  which  he  is  capable.  A  missionary  in 
his  youth  in  China,  he  there  suffered  martyrdom,  was 
left  for  dead,  and  only  succoured  and  brought  back  to  life 
by  the  charity  of  a  pariah.  We  must  suppose  the  pa- 
riah devoid  of  second  sight,  and  not  purposely  malicious 
in  this  act.  Such  an  experience,  it  might  be  thought, 
would  have  cured  a  man  of  the  desire  to  persecute ;  but 
the  human  spirit  is  a  thing  strangely  put  together;  and, 
having  been  a  Christian  martyr,  Du  Chayla  became  a 
Christian  persecutor.  The  Work  of  the  Propagation  of 
the  Faith  went  roundly  forward  in  his  hands.  His  house 
in  Pont  de  Montvert  served  him  as  a  prison.  There  he 
plucked  out  the  hairs  of  the  beard,  and  closed  the  hands 
of  his  prisoners  upon  live  coals,  to  convince  them  that 
they  were  deceived  in  their  opinions.  And  yet  had  not 
he  himself  tried  and  proved  the  inefficacy  of  these  carnal 
arguments  among  the  Boodhists  in  China  ? 

236 


PONT  DE  MONTVERT 

Not  only  was  life  made  intolerable  in  Languedoc,  but 
flight  was  rigidly  forbidden.  One  Massip,  a  muleteer, 
and  well  acquainted  with  the  mountain-paths,  had  al- 
ready guided  several  troops  of  fugitives  in  safety  to 
Geneva;  and  on  him,  with  another  convoy,  consisting 
mostly  of  women  dressed  as  men,  Du  Chayla,  in  an  evil 
hour  for  himself,  laid  his  hands.  The  Sunday  following, 
there  was  a  conventicle  of  Protestants  in  the  woods  of 
Altefage  upon  Mont  Bouges;  where  there  stood  up  one 
Seguier  —  Spirit  Seguier,  as  his  companions  called  him 
—  z  wool-carder,  tall,  black-faced,  and  toothless,  but  a 
man  full  of  prophecy.  He  declared,  in  the  name  of  God, 
that  the  time  for  submission  had  gone  by,  and  they  must 
betake  themselves  to  arms  for  the  deliverance  of  their 
brethren  and  the  destruction  of  the  priests. 

The  next  night,  24i\\July,  1702,  a  sound  disturbed 
the  Inspector  of  Missions  as  he  sat  in  his  prison-house  at 
Pont  de  Montvert;  the  voices  of  many  men  upraised  in 
psalmody  drew  nearer  and  nearer  through  the  town.  It 
was  ten  at  night;  he  had  his  court  about  him,  priests, 
soldiers,  and  servants,  to  the  number  of  twelve  or  fif- 
teen ;  and  now  dreading  the  insolence  of  a  conventicle 
below  his  very  windows,  he  ordered  forth  his  soldiers 
to  report.  But  the  psalm-singers  were  already  at  his 
door,  fifty  strong,  led  by  the  inspired  Seguier,  and 
breathing  death.  To  their  summons,  the  archpriest 
made  answer  like  a  stout  old  persecutor,  and  bade  his 
garrison  fire  upon  the  mob.  One  Camisard  (for,  accord- 
ing to  some,  it  was  in  this  night's  work  that  they  came 
by  the  name)  fell  at  this  discharge ;  his  comrades  burst 
in  the  door  with  hatchets  and  a  beam  of  wood,  overran 
the  lower  story  of  the  house,  set  free  the  prisoners,  and 

237 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

finding  one  of  them  in  the  vine,  a  sort  of  Scavenger's 
Daughter  of  the  place  and  period,  redoubled  in  fury 
against  Du  Chayla,  and  sought  by  repeated  assaults  to 
carry  the  upper  floors.  But  he,  on  his  side,  had  given 
absolution  to  his  men,  and  they  bravely  held  the  stair- 
case. 

*' Children  of  God,"  cried  the  prophet,  ''hold  your 
hands.  Let  us  burn  the  house,  with  the  priest  and  the 
satellites  of  Baal. ' ' 

The  fire  caught  readily.  Out  of  an  upper  window  Du 
Chayla  and  his  men  lowered  themselves  into  the  garden 
by  means  of  knotted  sheets ;  some  escaped  across  the 
river  under  the  bullets  of  the  insurgents ;  but  the  arch- 
priest  himself  fell,  broke  his  thigh,  and  could  only  crawl 
into  the  hedge.  What  were  his  reflections  as  this  second 
martyrdom  drew  near  }  A  poor,  brave,  besotted,  hate- 
ful man,  who  had  done  his  duty  resolutely  according  to 
his  light  both  in  the  Cevennes  and  China.  He  found  at 
least  one  telling  word  to  say  in  his  defence;  for  when 
the  roof  fell  in  and  the  upbursting  flames  discovered  his 
retreat,  and  they  came  and  dragged  him  to  the  public 
place  of  the  town,  raging  and  calling  him  damned  — 
"  If  1  be  damned,"  said  he,  "  why  should  you  also  damn 
yourselves  }  " 

Here  was  a  good  reason  for  the  last;  but  in  the  course 
of  his  inspectorship  he  had  given  many  stronger  which 
all  told  in  a  contrary  direction ;  and  these  he  was  now  to 
hear.  One  by  one,  Seguier  first,  the  Camisards  drew 
near  and  stabbed  him.  "This,"  they  said,  "is  for  my 
father  broken  on  the  wheel.  This  for  my  brother  in  the 
galleys.  That  for  my  mother  or  my  sister  imprisoned  in 
your  cursed  convents."     Each  gave  his  blow  and  his 

238 


PONT   DE  MONTVERT 

reason;  and  then  all  kneeled  and  sang  psalms  around 
the  body  till  the  dawn.  With  the  dawn,  still  singing, 
they  defiled  away  towards  Frugeres,  further  up  the 
Tarn,  to  pursue  the  work  of  vengeance,  leaving  Du 
Chayla's  prison-house  in  ruins,  and  his  body  pierced 
with  two-and-fifty  wounds  upon  the  public  place. 

Tis  a  wild  night's  work,  with  its  accompaniment  of 
psalms;  and  it  seems  as  if  a  psalm  must  always  have  a 
sound  of  threatening  in  that  town  upon  the  Tarn,  But 
the  story  does  not  end,  even  so  far  as  concerns  Pont  de 
Montvert,  with  the  departure  of  the  Camisards.  The 
career  of  Siguier  was  brief  and  bloody.  Two  more 
priests  and  a  whole  family  at  Ladeveie,  from  the  father 
to  the  servants,  fell  by  his  hand  or  by  his  orders ;  and 
yet  he  was  but  a  day  or  two  at  large,  and  restrained  all 
the  time  by  the  presence  of  the  soldiery.  Taken  at 
length  by  a  famous  soldier  of  fortune.  Captain  Pout,  he 
appeared  unmoved  before  his  judges. 

**  Your  name  .?"  they  asked. 

''  Pierre  Seguier. ' ' 

'*  Why  are  you  called  Spirit}  " 

'*  Because  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  is  with  me.'* 

**  Your  domicile .?" 

**  Lately  in  the  desert,  and  soon  in  heaven." 

*'Have  you  no  remorse  for  your  crimes  .^" 

*'  I  have  committed  none.  My  soul  is  like  a  garden 
full  of  shelter  and  of  fountains. 

At  Pont  de  Montvert,  on  the  12th  of  August,  he  had 
his  right  hand  stricken  from  his  body,  and  was  burned 
alive.  And  his  soul  was  like  a  garden  ?  So  perhaps 
was  the  soul  of  Du  Cbayla,  the  Christian  martyr.  And 
perhaps  if  you  could  read  in  my  soul,  or  I  could  read  in 

239 


TRAVELS  WITH  A   DONKEY 

yours,  our  own  composure  might  seem  little  less  sur- 
prising. 

Du  Chayla's  house  still  stands,  with  a  new  roof, 
beside  one  of  the  bridges  of  the  town ;  and  if  you  are 
curious  you  may  see  the  terrace-garden  into  which  he 
dropped. 


240 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  TARN 

A  NEW  road  leads  from  Pont  de  Montvert  to  Florae  by 
the  valley  of  the  Tarn;  a  smooth  sandy  ledge,  it  runs 
about  half-way  between  the  summit  of  the  cliffs  and  the 
river  in  the  bottom  of  the  valley ;  and  I  went  in  and  out, 
as  I  followed  it,  from  bays  of  shadow  into  promontories 
of  afternoon  sun.  This  was  a  pass  like  that  of  KiUie- 
crankie;  a  deep  turning  gully  in  the  hills,  with  the 
Tarn  making  a  wonderful  hoarse  uproar  far  below,  and 
craggy  summits  standing  in  the  sunshine  high  above. 
A  thin  fringe  of  ash-trees  ran  about  the  hill-tops,  like 
ivy  on  a  ruin ;  but  on  the  lower  slopes  and  far  up  every 
glen  the  Spanish  chestnut-trees  stood  each  four-square 
to  heaven  under  its  tented  foliage.  Some  were  planted 
each  on  its  own  terrace,  no  larger  than  a  bed;  some, 
trusting  in  their  roots,  found  strength  to  grow  and 
prosper  and  be  straight  and  large  upon  the  rapid  slopes 
of  the  valley ;  others,  where  there  was  a  margin  to  the 
river,  stood  marshalled  in  a  line  and  mighty  like  cedars 
of  Lebanon.  Yet  even  where  they  grew  most  thickly 
they  were  not  to  be  thought  of  as  a  wood,  but  as  a  herd 
of  stalwart  individuals;  and  the  dome  of  each  tree  stood 
forth  separate  and  large,  and  as  it  were  a  little  hill,  from 
among  the  domes  of  its  companions.  They  gave  forth 
a  faint  sweet  perfume  which  pervaded  the  air  of  the 

241 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

afternoon ;  autumn  had  put  tints  of  gold  and  tarnish  in 
the  green ;  and  the  sun  so  shone  through  and  kindled 
the  broad  foliage,  that  each  chestnut  was  relieved  against 
another,  not  in  shadow,  but  in  light.  A  humble  sketcher 
here  laid  down  his  pencil  in  despair. 

I  wish  I  could  convey  a  notion  of  the  growth  of  these 
noble  trees ;  of  how  they  strike  out  boughs  like  the  oak, 
and  trail  sprays  of  drooping  foliage  like  the  willow ;  of 
how  they  stand  on  upright  fluted  columns  like  the  pil- 
lars of  a  church ;  or  like  the  olive,  from  the  most  shat- 
tered bole  can  put  out  smooth  and  youthful  shoots,  and 
begin  a  new  life  upon  the  ruins  of  the  old.  Thus  they 
partake  of  the  nature  of  many  different  trees ;  and  even 
their  prickly  top-knots,  seen  near  at  hand  against  the 
sky,  have  a  certain  palm-like  air  that  impresses  the 
imagination.  But  their  individuality,  although  com- 
pounded of  so  many  elements,  is  but  the  richer  and  the 
more  original.  And  to  look  down  upon  a  level  filled 
with  these  knolls  of  foliage,  or  to  see  a  clan  of  old  un- 
conquerable chestnuts  cluster  'Mike  herded  elephants" 
upon  the  spur  of  a  mountain,  is  to  rise  to  higher  thoughts 
of  the  powers  that  are  in  Nature. 

Between  Modestine's  laggard  humour  and  the  beauty 
of  the  scene,  we  made  little  progress  all  that  afternoon ; 
and  at  last  finding  the  sun,  although  still  far  from  setting, 
was  already  beginning  to  desert  the  narrow  valley  of  the 
Tarn,  I  began  to  cast  about  for  a  place  to  camp  in.  This 
was  not  easy  to  find ;  the  terraces  were  too  narrow,  and 
the  ground,  where  it  was  unterraced,  was  usually  too 
steep  for  a  man  to  lie  upon.  I  should  have  slipped  all 
night,  and  awakened  towards  morning  with  my  feet  or 
my  head  in  the  river. 

242 


IN   THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  TARN 

After  perhaps  a  mile,  I  saw,  some  sixty  feet  above  the 
road,  a  little  plateau  large  enough  to  hold  my  sack,  and 
securely  parapeted  by  the  trunk  of  an  aged  and  enormous 
chestnut.  Thither,  with  infinite  trouble,  1  goaded  and 
kicked  the  reluctant  Modestine,  and  there  I  hastened  to 
unload  her.  There  was  only  room  for  myself  upon  the 
plateau,  and  I  had  to  go  nearly  as  high  again  before  I 
found  so  much  as  standing  room  for  the  ass.  It  was  on 
a  heap  of  rolling  stones,  on  an  artificial  terrace,  certainly 
not  five  feet  square  in  all.  Here  1  tied  her  to  a  chestnut, 
and  having  given  her  corn  and  bread  and  made  a  pile  of 
chestnut-leaves,  of  which  I  found  her  greedy,  I  descended 
once  more  to  my  own  encampment. 

The  position  was  unpleasantly  exposed.  One  or  two 
carts  went  by  upon  the  road ;  and  as  long  as  daylight 
lasted  I  concealed  myself,  for  all  the  world  like  a  hunted 
Camisard,  behind  my  fortification  of  vast  chestnut  trunk ; 
for  I  was  passionately  afraid  of  discovery  and  the  visit  of 
jocular  persons  in  the  night.  Moreover,  I  saw  that  I 
must  be  early  awake;  for  these  chestnut  gardens  had 
been  the  scene  of  industry  no  farther  gone  than  on  the 
day  before.  The  slope  was  strewn  with  lopped  branches, 
and  here  and  there  a  great  package  of  leaves  was  propped 
against  a  trunk ;  for  even  the  leaves  are  serviceable,  and 
the  peasants  use  them  in  winter  by  way  of  fodder  for 
their  animals.  I  picked  a  meal  in  fear  and  trembling, 
half  lying  down  to  hide  myself  from  the  road ;  and  I 
daresay  I  was  as  much  concerned  as  if  I  had  been  a 
scout  from  Joani's  band  above  upon  the  Lo^ere  or  from 
Salomon's  across  the  Tarn  in  the  old  times  of  psalm- 
singing  and  blood.  Or,  indeed,  perhaps  more;  for  the 
Camisards  had  a  remarkable  confidence  in  God ;  and  a 

243 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

tale  comes  back  into  my  memory  of  how  the  Count  of 
Gevaudan,  riding  with  a  party  of  dragoons  and  a  notary 
at  his  saddlebow  to  enforce  the  oath  of  fidelity  in  all  the 
country  hamlets,  entered  a  valley  in  the  woods,  and 
found  Cavalier  and  his  men  at  dinner,  gaily  seated  on 
the  grass,  and  their  hats  crowned  with  box-tree  gar- 
lands, while  fifteen  women  washed  their  linen  in  the 
stream.  Such  was  a  field  festival  in  1703;  at  that  date 
Antony  Watteau  would  be  painting  similar  subjects. 

This  was  a  very  different  camp  from  that  of  the  night 
before  in  the  cool  and  silent  pine-woods.  It  was  warm 
and  even  stifling  in  the  valley.  The  shrill  song  of  frogs, 
like  the  tremolo  note  of  a  whistle  with  a  pea  in  it,  rang 
up  from  the  riverside  before  the  sun  was  down.  In  the 
growing  dusk,  faint  rustlings  began  to  run  to  and  fro 
among  the  fallen  leaves ;  from  time  to  time  a  faint  chirp- 
ing or  cheeping  noise  would  fall  upon  my  ear;  and  from 
time  to  time  I  thought  I  could  see  the  movement  of 
something  swift  and  indistinct  between  the  chestnuts. 
A  profusion  of  large  ants  swarmed  upon  the  ground ; 
bats  whisked  by,  and  mosquitoes  droned  overhead. 
The  long  boughs  with  their  bunches  of  leaves  hung 
against  the  sky  like  garlands;  and  those  immediately 
above  and  around  me  had  somewhat  the  air  of  a  trellis 
which  should  have  been  wrecked  and  half  overthrown 
in  a  gale  of  wind. 

Sleep  for  a  long  time  fled  my  eyelids ;  and  just  as  I 
was  beginning  to  feel  quiet  stealing  over  my  limbs,  and 
settling  densely  on  my  mind,  a  noise  at  my  head  startled 
me  broad  awake  again,  and,  I  will  frankly  confess  it, 
brought  my  heart  into  my  mouth.  It  was  such  a  noise 
as  a  person  would  make  scratching  loudly  with  a  finger- 

244 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  TARN 

nail,  it  came  from  under  the  knapsack  which  served  me 
for  a  pillow,  and  it  was  thrice  repeated  before  I  had  time 
to  sit  up  and  turn  about.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen, 
nothing  more  was  to  be  heard,  but  a  few  of  these  mys- 
terious rustlings  far  and  near,  and  the  ceaseless  accom- 
paniment of  the  river  and  the  frogs.  I  learned  next  day 
that  the  chestnut  gardens  are  infested  by  rats ;  rustling, 
chirping,  and  scraping  were  probably  all  due  to  these; 
but  the  puzzle,  for  the  moment,  was  insoluble,  and  I  had 
to  compose  myself  for  sleep,  as  best  I  could,  in  won- 
dering uncertainty  about  my  neighbours. 

I  was  wakened  in  the  gray  of  the  morning  {Monday, 
^oth  September)  by  the  sound  of  footsteps  not  far  off 
upon  the  stones,  and  opening  my  eyes,  I  beheld  a  peas- 
ant going  by  among  the  chestnuts  by  a  footpath  that  I 
had  not  hitherto  observed.  He  turned  his  head  neither 
to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  and  disappeared  in  a  few 
strides  among  the  foliage.  Here  was  an  escape!  But 
it  was  plainly  more  than  time  to  be  moving.  The  peas- 
antry were  abroad;  scarce  less  terrible  to  me  in  my  non- 
descript position  than  the  soldiers  of  Captain  Pout  to  an 
undaunted  Camisard.  I  fed  Modestine  with  what  haste 
I  could ;  but  as  I  was  returning  to  my  sack,  I  saw  a  man 
and  a  boy  come  down  the  hillside  in  a  direction  cross- 
ing mine.  They  unintelligibly  hailed  me,  and  I  replied 
with  inarticulate  but  cheerful  sounds,  and  hurried  for- 
ward to  get  into  my  gaiters. 

The  pair,  who  seemed  to  be  father  and  son,  came 
slowly  up  to  the  plateau,  and  stood  close  beside  me  for 
some  time  in  silence.  The  bed  was  open,  and  I  saw 
with  regret  my  revolver  lying  patently  disclosed  on  the 
blue  wool.     At  last,  after  they  had  looked  me  all  over, 

245 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

he  went  on  to  tell  me;  not  many,  but  a  few.  "  Many 
are  called,"  he  quoted,  *'and  few  chosen." 

"  My  father,"  said  I,  "it  is  not  easy  to  say  who  know 
the  Lord;  and  it  is  none  of  our  business.  Protestants 
and  Catholics,  and  even  those  who  worship  stones,  may 
know  Him  and  be  known  by  Him ;  for  He  has  made  all." 

I  did  not  know  I  was  so  good  a  preacher. 

The  old  man  assured  me  he  thought  as  I  did,  and  re- 
peated his  expressions  of  pleasure  at  meeting  me.  * '  We 
are  so  few,"  he  said.  **They  call  us  Moravians  here; 
but  down  in  the  department  of  Card,  where  there  are 
also  a  good  number,  they  are  called  Derbists,  after  an 
English  pastor." 

I  began  to  understand  that  I  was  figuring,  in  question- 
able taste,  as  a  member  of  some  sect  to  me  unknown ; 
but  I  was  more  pleased  with  the  pleasure  of  my  com- 
panion than  embarrassed  by  my  own  equivocal  position. 
Indeed  I  can  see  no  dishonesty  in  not  avowing  a  differ- 
ence; and  especially  in  these  high  matters,  where  we 
have  all  a  sufficient  assurance  that,  whoever  may  be  in 
the  wrong,  we  ourselves  are  not  completely  in  the  right. 
The  truth  is  much  talked  about;  but  this  old  man  in  a 
brown  nightcap  showed  himself  so  simple,  sweet,  and 
friendly  that  I  am  not  unwilling  to  profess  myself  his 
convert.  He  was,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  a  Plymouth 
Brother.  Of  what  that  involves  in  the  way  of  doctrine 
I  have  no  idea  nor  the  time  to  inform  myself;  but  I 
know  right  well  that  we  are  all  embarked  upon  a 
troublesome  world,  the  children  of  one  Father,  striving 
in  many  essential  points  to  do  and  to  become  the  same. 
And  although  it  was  somewhat  in  a  mistake  that  he 
shook  hands  with  me  so  often  and  showed  himself  so 


IN   THE  VALLEY   OF  THE  TARN 

ready  to  receive  my  words,  that  was  a  mistake  of  the 
truth-finding  sort.  For  charity  begins  blindfold ;  and  only 
through  a  series  of  similar  misapprehensions  rises  at 
length  into  a  settled  principle  of  love  and  patience,  and 
a  firm  belief  in  all  our  fellow-men.  If  1  deceived  this 
good  old  man,  in  the  like  manner  I  would  willingly  go  on 
to  deceive  others.  And  if  ever  at  length,  out  of  our 
separate  and  sad  ways,  we  should  all  come  together  into 
one  common  house,  I  have  a  hope,  to  which  I  cling 
dearly,  that  my  mountain  Plymouth  Brother  will  hasten 
to  shake  hands  with  me  again. 

Thus,  talking  like  Christian  and  Faithful  by  the  way, 
he  and  I  came  down  upon  a  hamlet  by  the  Tarn.  It  was 
but  a  humble  place,  called  La  Vernede,  with  less  than  a 
dozen  houses,  and  a  Protestant  chapel  on  a  knoll.  Here 
he  dwelt;  and  here,  at  the  inn,  I  ordered  my  breakfast. 
The  inn  was  kept  by  an  agreeable  young  man,  a  stone- 
breaker  on  the  road,  and  his  sister,  a  pretty  and  engag- 
ing girl.  The  village  school-master  dropped  in  to  speak 
with  the  stranger.  And  these  were  all  Protestants — a  fact 
which  pleased  me  more  than  I  should  have  expected; 
and,  what  pleased  me  still  more,  they  seemed  all  upright 
and  simple  people.  The  Plymouth  Brother  hung  round 
me  with  a  sort  of  yearning  interest,  and  returned  at  least 
thrice  to  make  sure  I  was  enjoying  my  meal.  His  be- 
haviour touched  me  deeply  at  the  time,  and  even  now 
moves  me  in  recollection.  He  feared  to  intrude,  but  he 
would  not  willingly  forego  one  moment  of  my  society ; 
and  he  seemed  never  weary  of  shaking  me  by  the  hand. 

When  all  the  rest  had  drifted  off  to  their  day's  work, 
I  sat  for  near  half  an  hour  with  the  young  mistress  of 
the  house,  who  talked  pleasantly  over  her  seam  of  the 

249 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

chestnut  harvest,  and  the  beauties  of  the  Tarn,  and  old 
family  affections,  broken  up  when  young  folk  go  from 
home,  yet  still  subsisting.  Hers,  I  am  sure,  was  a  sweet 
nature,  with  a  country  plainness  and  much  delicacy  un- 
derneath ;  and  he  who  takes  her  to  his  heart  will  doubt- 
less be  a  fortunate  young  man. 

The  valley  below  La  Vernede  pleased  me  more  and 
more  as  I  went  forward.  Now  the  hills  approached 
from  either  hand,  naked  and  crumbling,  and  walled  in 
the  river  between  cliffs;  and  now  the  valley  widened 
and  became  green.  The  road  led  me  past  the  old  castle 
of  Miral  on  a  steep;  past  a  battlemented  monastery, 
long  since  broken  up  and  turned  into  a  church  and  par- 
sonage; and  past  a  cluster  of  black  roofs,  the  village  of 
Cocures,  sitting  among  vineyards  and  meadows  and 
orchards  thick  with  red  apples,  and  where,  along  the 
highway,  they  were  knocking  down  walnuts  from  the 
roadside  trees,  and  gathering  them  in  sacks  and  baskets. 
The  hills,  however  much  the  vale  might  open,  were  still 
tall  and  bare,  with  cliffy  battlements  and  here  and  there 
a  pointed  summit;  and  the  Tarn  still  rattled  through 
the  stones  with  a  mountain  noise.  I  had  been  led,  by 
bagmen  of  a  picturesque  turn  of  mind,  to  expect  a  hor- 
rific country  after  the  heart  of  Byron;  but  to  my  Scotch 
eyes  it  seemed  smiling  and  plentiful,  as  the  weather  still 
gave  an  impression  of  high  summer  to  my  Scotch  body ; 
although  the  chestnuts  were  already  picked  out  by  the 
autumn,  and  the  poplars,  that  here  began  to  mingle  with 
them,  had  turned  into  pale  gold  against  the  approach  of 
winter. 

There  was  something  in  this  landscape,  smiling  al- 
though wild,  that  explained  to  me  the  spirit  of  the  South- 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  TARN 

ern  Covenanters.  Those  who  took  to  the  hills  for  con- 
science' sake  in  Scotland  had  all  gloomy  and  bedevilled 
thoughts ;  for  once  that  they  received  God's  comfort  they 
would  be  twice  engaged  with  Satan ;  but  the  Camisards 
had  only  bright  and  supporting  visions.  They  dealt 
much  more  in  blood,  both  given  and  taken ;  yet  I  find 
no  obsession  of  the  Evil  One  in  their  records.  With  a 
light  conscience,  they  pursued  their  life  in  these  rough 
times  and  circumstances.  The  soul  of  Siguier,  let  us 
not  forget,  was  like  a  garden.  They  knew  they  were 
on  God's  side,  with  a  knowledge  that  has  no  parallel 
among  the  Scots;  for  the  Scots,  although  they  might 
be  certain  of  the  cause,  could  never  rest  confident  of  the 
person. 

"  We  flew,"  says  one  old  Camisard,  "when  we  heard 
the  sound  of  psalm-singing,  we  flew  as  if  with  wings. 
We  felt  within  us  an  animating  ardour,  a  transporting 
desire.  The  feeling  cannot  be  expressed  in  words.  It 
is  a  thing  that  must  have  been  experienced  to  be  under- 
stood. However  weary  we  might  be,  we  thought  no 
more  of  our  weariness  and  grew  light,  so  soon  as  the 
psalms  fell  upon  our  ears." 

The  valley  of  the  Tarn  and  the  people  whom  I  met 
at  La  Verriede  not  only  explain  to  me  this  passage,  but 
the  twenty  years  of  suffering  which  those,  who  were  so 
stiff  and  so  bloody  when  once  they  betook  themselves 
to  war,  endured  with  the  meekness  of  children  and  the 
constancy  of  saints  and  peasants. 


351 


FLORAC 

On  a  branch  of  the  Tarn  stands  Florae,  the  seat  of  a 
subprefecture,  with  an  old  castle,  an  alley  of  planes, 
many  quaint  street-corners,  and  a  live  fountain  welling 
from  the  hill.  It  is  notable,  besides,  for  handsome 
women,  and  as  one  of  the  two  capitals,  Alais  being  the 
other,  of  the  country  of  the  Camisards. 

The  landlord  of  the  inn  took  me,  after  I  had  eaten,  to 
an  adjoining  cafe,  where  I,  or  rather  my  journey,  became 
the  topic  of  the  afternoon.  Every  one  had  some  sug- 
gestion for  my  guidance;  and  the  subprefectorial  map 
was  fetched  from  the  subprefecture  itself,  and  much 
thumbed  among  coffee-cups  and  glasses  of  liqueur. 
Most  of  these  kind  advisers  were  Protestant,  though  I 
observed  that  Protestant  and  Catholic  intermingled  in  a 
very  easy  manner;  and  it  surprised  me  to  see  what 
a  lively  memory  still  subsisted  of  the  religious  war. 
Among  the  hills  of  the  south-west^  by  Mauchline,  Cum- 
nock, or  Carsphairn,  in  isolated  farms  or  in  the  manse, 
serious  Presbyterian  people  still  recall  the  days  of  the 
great  persecution,  and  the  graves  of  local  martyrs  are 
still  piously  regarded.  But  in  towns  and  among  the 
so-called  better  classes,  I  fear  that  these  old  doings  have 
become  an  idle  tale.     If  you  met  a  mixed  company  in 

252 


FLORAC 

the  King's  Arms  at  Wigtown,  it  is  not  likely  that  the 
talk  would  run  on  Covenanters.  Nay,  at  Muirkirk  of 
Glenluce,  I  found  the  beadle's  wife  had  not  so  much  as 
heard  of  Prophet  Peden.  But  these  Cevenols  were  proud 
of  their  ancestors  in  quite  another  sense;  the  war  was 
their  chosen  topic;  its  exploits  were  their  own  patent 
of  nobility ;  and  where  a  man  or  a  race  has  had  but  one 
adventure,  and  that  heroic,  we  must  expect  and  pardon 
some  prolixity  of  reference.  They  told  me  the  country 
was  still  full  of  legends  hitherto  uncollected;  I  heard 
from  them  about  Cavalier's  descendants  —  not  direct 
descendants,  be  it  understood,  but  only  cousins  or  neph- 
ews —  who  were  still  prosperous  people  in  the  scene  of 
the  boy-general's  exploits ;  and  one  farmer  had  seen  the 
bones  of  old  combatants  dug  up  into  the  air  of  an  after- 
noon in  the  nineteenth  century,  in  a  field  where  the  an- 
cestors had  fought,  and  the  great-grandchildren  were 
peaceably  ditching. 

Later  in  the  day  one  of  the  Protestant  pastors  was  so 
good  as  to  visit  me :  a  young  man,  intelligent  and  po- 
lite, with  whom  I  passed  an  hour  or  two  in  talk.  Flo- 
rae, he  told  me,  is  part  Protestant,  part  Catholic;  and 
the  difference  in  religion  is  usually  doubled  by  the  dif- 
ference in  politics.  You  may  judge  of  my  surprise, 
coming  as  I  did  from  such  a  babbling  purgatorial  Po- 
land of  a  place  as  Monastier,  when  I  learned  that  the 
population  lived  together  on  very  quiet  terms ;  and  there 
was  even  an  exchange  of  hospitalities  between  house- 
holds thus  doubly  separated.  Black  Camisard  and 
White  Camisard,  militiaman  and  Miquelet  and  dragoon, 
Protestant  prophet  and  Catholic  cadet  of  the  White 
Cross,  they  had  all  been  sabring  and  shooting,  burning, 

253 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

pillaging  and  murdering,  their  hearts  hot  with  indig- 
nant passion;  and  here,  after  a  hundred  and  seventy 
years,  Protestant  is  still  Protestant,  Catholic  still  Catho- 
lic, in  mutual  toleration  and  mild  amity  of  life.  But  the 
race  of  man,  like  that  indomitable  nature  whence  it 
sprang,  has  medicating  virtues  of  its  own;  the  years 
and  seasons  bring  various  harvests;  the  sun  returns 
after  the  rain ;  and  mankind  outlives  secular  animosities, 
as  a  single  man  awakens  from  the  passions  of  a  day. 
We  judge  our  ancestors  from  a  more  divine  position; 
and  the  dust  being  a  little  laid  with  several  centuries, 
we  can  see  both  sides  adorned  with  human  virtues  and 
fighting  with  a  show  of  right. 

I  have  never  thought  it  easy  to  be  just,  and  find  it 
daily  even  harder  than  I  thought.  I  own  I  met  these 
Protestants  with  delight  and  a  sense  of  coming  home. 
I  was  accustomed  to  speak  their  language,  in  another 
and  deeper  sense  of  the  word  than  that  which  distin- 
guishes between  French  and  English ;  for  the  true  babel 
is  a  divergence  upon  morals.  And  hence  I  could  hold 
more  free  communication  with  the  Protestants,  and 
judge  them  more  justly,  than  the  Catholics.  Father 
ApoUtnaris  may  pair  off  with  my  mountain  Plymouth 
Brother  as  two  guileless  and  devout  old  men ;  yet  I  ask 
myself  if  I  had  as  ready  a  feeling  for  the  virtues  of  the 
Trappist;  or  had  I  been  a  Catholic,  if  I  should  have  felt  so 
warmly  to  the  dissenter  of  La  l^ernede.  With  the  first 
I  was  on  terms  of  mere  forbearance;  but  with  the  other, 
although  only  on  a  misunderstanding  and  by  keeping 
on  selected  points,  it  was  still  possible  to  hold  converse 
and  exchange  some  honest  thoughts.  In  this  world  of 
imperfection  we  gladly  welcome  even  partial  intimacies. 

254 


FLORAC 


If  we  find  but  one  to  whom  we  can  speak  out  of  our 
heart  freely,  with  whom  we  can  walk  in  love  and  sim- 
plicity without  dissimulation,  we  have  no  ground  of 
quarrel  with  the  world  or  God. 


255 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  MIMENTE 

On  Tuesday,  ist  October,  we  left  Florae  late  in  the 
afternoon,  a  tired  donkey  and  tired  donkey-driver.  A 
little  way  up  the  Tarnon,  a  covered  bridge  of  wood  in- 
troduced us  into  the  valley  of  the  Mimente.  Steep  rocky 
red  mountains  overhung  the  stream;  great  oaks  and 
chestnuts  grew  upon  the  slopes  or  in  stony  terraces; 
here  and  there  was  a  red  field  of  millet  or  a  few  apple- 
trees  studded  with  red  apples ;  and  the  road  passed  hard 
by  two  black  hamlets,  one  with  an  old  castle  atop  to 
please  the  heart  of  the  tourist. 

It  was  difficult  here  again  to  find  a  spot  fit  for  my  en- 
campment. Even  under  the  oaks  and  chestnuts  the 
ground  had  not  only  a  very  rapid  slope,  but  was  heaped 
with  loose  stones ;  and  where  there  was  no  timber  the 
hills  descended  to  the  stream  in  a  red  precipice  tufted 
with  heather.  The  sun  had  left  the  highest  peak  in 
front  of  me,  and  the  valley  was  full  of  the  lowing  sound 
of  herdsmen's  horns  as  they  recalled  the  flocks  into  the 
stable,  when  I  spied  a  bight  of  meadow  some  way  be- 
low the  roadway  in  an  angle  of  the  river.  Thither  I  de- 
scended, and,  tying  Modestine  provisionally  to  a  tree, 
proceeded  to  investigate  the  neighbourhood.  A  gray 
pearly  evening  shadow  filled  the  glen ;  objects  at  a  little 

25<r 


IN   THE   VALLEY   OF   THE   MIMENTE 

distance  grew  indistinct  and  melted  bafflingly  into  each 
other;  and  the  darkness  was  rising  steadily  like  an  ex- 
halation. I  approached  a  great  oak  which  grew  in  the 
meadow,  hard  by  the  river's  brink;  when  to  my  dis- 
gust the  voices  of  children  fell  upon  my  ear,  and  1  beheld 
a  house  round  the  angle  on  the  other  bank.  I  had  half 
a  mind  to  pack  and  be  gone  again,  but  the  growing 
darkness  moved  me  to  remain.  I  had  only  to  make  no 
noise  until  the  night  was  fairly  come,  and  trust  to  the 
dawn  to  call  me  early  in  the  morning.  But  it  was  hard 
to  be  annoyed  by  neighbours  in  such  a  great  hotel. 

A  hollow  underneath  the  oak  was  my  bed.  Before  I 
had  fed  Modestine  and  arranged  my  sack,  three  stars 
were  already  brightly  shining,  and  the  others  were  be- 
ginning dimly  to  appear.  I  slipped  down  to  the  river, 
which  looked  very  black  among  its  rocks,  to  fill  my 
can ;  and  dined  with  a  good  appetite  in  the  dark,  for  I 
scrupled  to  light  a  lantern  while  so  near  a  house.  The 
moon,  which  I  had  seen,  a  pallid  crescent,  all  afternoon, 
faintly  illuminated  the  summit  of  the  hills,  but  not  a  ray 
fell  into  the  bottom  of  the  glen  where  1  was  lying.  The 
oak  rose  before  me  like  a  pillar  of  darkness ;  and  over- 
head the  heartsome  stars  were  set  in  the  face  of  the 
night.  No  one  knows  the  stars  who  has  not  slept,  as 
the  French  happily  put  it,  i  la  belle  etoile.  He  may 
know  all  their  names  and  distances  and  magnitudes, 
and  yet  be  ignorant  of  what  alone  concerns  mankind, 
their  serene  and  gladsome  influence  on  the  mind.  The 
greater  part  of  poetry  is  about  the  stars ;  and  very  justly, 
for  they  are  themselves  the  most  classical  of  poets. 
These  same  far-away  worlds,  sprinkled  like  tapers  or 
shaken  together  like  a  diamond  dust  upon  the  sky,  had 

257 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

looked  not  otherwise  to  Roland  or  Cavalier,  when,  in 
the  words  of  the  latter,  they  had  "  no  other  tent  but  the 
sky,  and  no  other  bed  than  my  mother  earth." 

All  night  a  strong  wind  blew  up  the  valley,  and  the 
acorns  fell  pattering  over  me  from  the  oak.  Yet,  on 
this  first  night  of  October,  the  air  was  as  mild  as  May, 
and  I  slept  with  the  fur  thrown  back. 

I  was  much  disturbed  by  the  barking  of  a  dog,  an 
animal  that  1  fear  more  than  any  wolf.  A  dog  is  vastly 
braver,  and  is  besides  supported  by  the  sense  of  duty. 
If  you  kill  a  wolf,  you  meet  with  encouragement  and 
oraise ;  but  if  you  kill  a  dog,  the  sacred  rights  of  prop- 
erty and  the  domestic  affections  come  clamouring  round 
you  for  redress.  At  the  end  of  a  fagging  day,  the  sharp, 
cruel  note  of  a  dog's  bark  is  in  itself  a  keen  annoyance; 
and  to  a  tramp  like  myself,  he  represents  the  sedentary 
and  respectable  world  in  its  most  hostile  form.  There 
is  something  of  the  clergyman  or  the  lawyer  about  this 
engaging  animal;  and  if  he  were  not  amenable  to  stones, 
the  boldest  man  would  shrink  from  travelling  afoot.  I 
I  respect  dogs  much  in  the  domestic  circle;  but  on  the 
highway  or  sleeping  afield,  1  both  detest  and  fear  them. 

1  was  wakened  next  morning  {Wednesday,  October 
2d)  by  the  same  dog  —  for  I  knew  his  bark — making  a 
charge  down  the  bank,  and  then,  seeing  me  sit  up,  re- 
treating again  with  great  alacrity.  The  stars  were  not 
yet  quite  extinguished.  The  heaven  was  of  that  en- 
chanting mild  gray-blue  of  the  early  morn.  A  still  clear 
light  began  to  fall,  and  the  trees  on  the  hillside  were 
outlined  sharply  against  the  sky.  The  wind  had  veered 
more  to  the  north,  and  no  longer  reached  me  in  the 
glen ;  but  as  I  was  going  on  with  my  preparations,  it 

258 


IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  MIMENTE 

drove  a  white  cloud  very  swiftly  over  the  hill-top ;  and 
looking  up,  I  was  surprised  to  see  the  cloud  dyed  with 
gold.  In  these  high  regions  of  the  air,  the  sun  was  al- 
ready shining  as  at  noon.  If  only  the  clouds  travelled 
high  enough,  we  should  see  the  same  thing  all  night 
long.     For  it  is  always  daylight  in  the  fields  of  space. 

As  I  began  to  go  up  the  valley,  a  draught  of  wind 
came  down  it  out  of  the  seat  of  the  sunrise,  although 
the  clouds  continued  to  run  overhead  in  an  almost  con- 
trary direction.  A  few  steps  farther,  and  1  saw  a  whole 
hillside  gilded  with  the  sun;  and  still  a  little  beyond, be- 
tween two  peaks,  a  centre  of  dazzling  brilliancy  appeared 
floating  in  the  sky,  and  I  was  once  more  face  to  face 
with  the  big  bonfire  that  occupies  the  kernel  of  our 
system. 

I  met  but  one  human  being  that  forenoon,  a  dark 
military-looking  wayfarer,  who  carried  a  game-bag  on  a 
baldric;  but  he  made  a  remark  that  seems  worthy  of 
record.  For  when  I  asked  him  if  he  were  Protestant  or 
Catholic 

*  *  O, "  said  he,  "I  make  no  shame  of  my  religion.  I  am 
a  Catholic." 

He  made  no  shame  of  it!  The  phrase  is  a  piece  of 
natural  statistics ;  for  it  is  the  language  of  one  in  a  mi- 
nority. I  thought  with  a  smile  of  Bavile  and  his  dra- 
goons, and  how  you  may  ride  rough-shod  over  a  religion 
for  a  century,  and  leave  it  only  the  more  lively  for  the 
friction.  Ireland  is  still  Catholic;  the  Cevennes  still 
Protestant.  It  is  not  a  basketful  of  law-papers,  nor  the 
hoofs  and  pistol-butts  of  a  regiment  of  horse,  that  can 
change  one  tittle  of  a  ploughman's  thoughts.  Outdoor 
rustic  people  have  not  many  ideas,  but  such  as  they  have 

259 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

are  hardy  plants  and  thrive  flourishingly  in  persecution. 
One  who  has  grown  a  long  while  in  the  sweat  of 
laborious  noons,  and  under  the  stars  at  night,  a  fre- 
quenter of  hills  and  forests,  an  old  honest  countryman, 
has,  in  the  end,  a  sense  of  communion  with  the  powers 
of  the  universe,  and  amicable  relations  towards  his  God. 
Like  my  mountain  Plymouth  Brother,  he  knows  the 
Lord.  His  religion  does  not  repose  upon  a  choice  of 
logic ;  it  is  the  poetry  of  the  man's  experience,  the  phi- 
losophy of  the  history  of  his  life.  God,  like  a  great 
power,  like  a  great  shining  sun,  has  appeared  to  this 
simple  fellow  in  the  course  of  years,  and  become  the 
ground  and  essence  of  his  least  reflections ;  and  you  may 
change  creeds  and  dogmas  by  authority,  or  proclaim  a 
new  religion  with  the  sound  of  trumpets,  if  you  will; 
but  here  is  a  man  who  has  his  own  thoughts,  and  will 
stubbornly  adhere  to  them  in  good  and  evil.  He  is  a 
Catholic,  a  Protestant,  or  a  Plymouth  Brother,  in  the  same 
indefeasible  sense  that  a  man  is  not  a  woman,  or  a  wo- 
man not  a  man.  For  he  could  not  vary  from  his  faith, 
unless  he  could  eradicate  all  memory  of  the  past,  and,  in 
a  strict  and  not  a  conventional  meaning,  change  his 
mind. 


260 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY 

I  WAS  now  drawing  near  to  Cassagnas,  a  cluster  of 
black  roofs  upon  the  hillside,  in  this  wild  valley,  among 
chestnut  gardens,  and  looked  upon  in  the  clear  air  by 
many  rocky  peaks.  The  road  along  the  Mimente  is  yet 
new,  nor  have  the  mountaineers  recovered  their  surprise 
when  the  first  cart  arrived  at  Cmsagnas.  But  although 
it  lay  thus  apart  from  the  current  of  men's  business,  this 
hamlet  had  already  made  a  figure  in  the  history  of 
France,  Hard  by,  in  caverns  of  the  mountain,  was 
one  of  the  five  arsenals  of  the  Camisards ;  where  they 
laid  up  clothes  and  corn  and  arms  against  necessity, 
forged  bayonets  and  sabres,  and  made  themselves  gun- 
powder with  willow  charcoal  and  saltpetre  boiled  in 
kettles.  To  the  same  caves,  amid  this  multifarious  in- 
dustry, the  sick  and  wounded  were  brought  up  to  heal; 
and  there  they  were  visited  by  the  two  surgeons,  Cha- 
brier  and  Tavatiy  and  secretly  nursed  by  women  of  the 
neighbourhood. 

Of  the  five  legions  into  which  the  Camisards  were  di- 
vided, it  was  the  oldest  and  the  most  obscure  that  had 
its  magazines  by  Cassagnas.  This  was  the  band  of 
Spirit  Seguier;  men  who  had  joined  their  voices  with 
his  in  the  68th  Psalm  as  they  marched  down  by  night 
on  the  archpriest  of  the  Cevennes.     Seguier,  promoted 

261 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

to  heaven,  was  succeeded  by  Salomon  Couderc,  whom 
Cavalier  treats  in  his  memoirs  as  chaplain-general  to  the 
whole  army  of  the  Camisards.  He  was  a  prophet;  a 
great  reader  of  the  heart,  who  admitted  people  to  the 
sacrament  or  refused  them  by  '' intentively  viewing 
every  man"  between  the  eyes;  and  had  the  most  of  the 
Scriptures  off  by  rote.  And  this  was  surely  happy; 
since  in  a  surprise  in  August,  1703,  he  lost  his  mule,  his 
portfolios,  and  his  Bible.  It  is  only  strange  that  they 
were  not  surprised  more  often  and  more  effectually ;  for 
this  legion  oiCa^sagnas  was  truly  patriarchal  in  its  theory 
of  war,  and  camped  without  sentries,  leaving  that  duty 
to  the  angels  of  the  God  for  whom  they  fought.  This 
is  a  token,  not  only  of  their  faith,  but  of  the  trackless 
country  where  they  harboured.  M.  de  Caladon,  taking 
a  stroll  one  fine  day,  walked  without  warning  into  their 
midst,  as  he  might  have  walked  into  **a  flock  of  sheep 
in  a  plain,"  and  found  some  asleep  and  some  awake  and 
psalm-singing.  A  traitor  had  need  of  no  recommenda- 
tion to  insinuate  himself  among  their  ranks,  beyond 
*'his  faculty  of  singing  psalms;"  and  even  the  prophet 
Salomon  '  *  took  him  into  a  particular  friendship. ' '  Thus, 
among  their  intricate  hills,  the  rustic  troop  subsisted; 
and  history  can  attribute  few  exploits  to  them  but  sac- 
raments and  ecstasies. 

People  of  this  tough  and  simple  stock  will  not,  as  I 
have  just  been  saying,  prove  variable  in  religion;  nor 
will  they  get  nearer  to  apostasy  than  a  mere  external 
conformity  like  that  of  Naaman  in  the  house  of  Rimmon. 
When  Louis  XFL,  in  the  words  of  the  edict,  ''convinced 
by  the  uselessness  of  a  century  of  persecutions,  and 
rather  from  necessity  than  sympathy,"  granted  at  last  a 

262 


THE  HEART   OF  THE  COUNTRY 

royal  grace  of  toleration,  Cassagnas  was  still  Protestant ; 
and  to  a  man,  it  is  so  to  this  day.  There  is,  indeed, 
one  family  that  is  not  Protestant,  but  neither  is  it  Catho- 
lic. It  is  that  of  a  Catholic  cure  in  revolt,  who  has  taken 
to  his  bosom  a  schoolmistress.  And  his  conduct,  it's 
worth  noting,  is  disapproved  by  the  Protestant  villagers. 

"\t  is  a  bad  idea  for  a  man,"  said  one,  "to  go  back 
from  his  engagements." 

The  villagers  whom  I  saw  seemed  intelligent  after  a 
countrified  fashion,  and  were  all  plain  and  dignified  in 
manner.  As  a  Protestant  myself,  I  was  well  looked 
upon,  and  my  acquaintance  with  history  gained  me  far- 
ther respect.  For  we  had  something  not  unlike  a  reli- 
gious controversy  at  table,  a  gendarme  and  a  merchant 
with  whom  I  dined  being  both  strangers  to  the  place 
and  Catholics.  The  young  men  of  the  house  stood 
round  and  supported  me;  and  the  whole  discussion  was 
tolerantly  conducted,  and  surprised  a  man  brought  up 
among  the  infinitesimal  and  contentious  differences  of 
Scotland.  The  merchant,  indeed,  grew  a  little  warm, 
and  was  far  less  pleased  than  some  others  with  my  his- 
torical acquirements.  But  the  gendarme  was  mighty 
easy  over  it  all. 

"It's  a  bad  idea  for  a  man  to  change,"  said  he;  and 
the  remark  was  generally  applauded. 

That  was  not  the  opinion  of  the  priest  and  soldier  at 
our  Lady  of  the  Snows.  But  this  is  a  different  race ;  and 
perhaps  the  same  great-heartedness  that  upheld  them  to 
resist,  now  enables  them  to  differ  in  a  kind  spirit.  For 
courage  respects  courage ;  but  where  a  faith  has  been 
trodden  out,  we  may  look  for  a  mean  and  narrow  pop- 
ulation.    The  true  work  of  Bruce  and  Wallace  was  the 

263 


TRAVELS  WITH   A  DONKEY 

union  of  the  nations ;  not  that  they  should  stand  apart 
a  while  longer,  skirmishing  upon  their  borders ;  but  that, 
when  the  time  came,  they  might  unite  with  self-respect. 
The  merchant  was  much  interested  in  my  journey,  and 
thought  it  dangerous  to  sleep  afield. 

"There  are  the  wolves,"  said  he;  *'and  then  it  is 
known  you  are  an  Englishman.  The  English  have  al- 
ways long  purses,  and  it  might  very  well  enter  into 
some  one's  head  to  deal  you  an  ill  blow  some  night." 

I  told  him  I  was  not  much  afraid  of  such  accidents ; 
and  at  any  rate  judged  it  unwise  to  dwell  upon  alarms 
or  consider  small  perils  in  the  arrangement  of  life.  Life 
itself,  I  submitted,  was  a  far  too  risky  business  as  a 
whole  to  make  each  additional  particular  of  danger 
worth  regard.  ''Something,"  said  I,  "  might  burst  in 
your  inside  any  day  of  the  week,  and  there  would  be 
an  end  of  you,  if  you  were  locked  into  your  room  with 
three  turns  of  the  key." 

"  Cependant/'  said  he,  ""  coucber  dehors!  '* 

''God,"  said  I,  "is  everywhere." 

"  Cependant,  coucher  dehors!  "  he  repeated,  and  his 
voice  was  eloquent  of  terror. 

He  was  the  only  person,  in  all  my  voyage,  who  saw 
anything  hardy  in  so  simple  a  proceeding;  although 
many  considered  it  superfluous.  Only  one,  on  the 
other  hand,  professed  much  delight  in  the  idea;  and 
that  was  my  Plymouth  Brother,  who  cried  out,  when  I 
told  him  I  sometimes  preferred  sleeping  under  the  stars 
to  a  close  and  noisy  alehouse,  "Now  I  see  that  you 
know  the  Lord!" 

The  merchant  asked  me  for  one  of  my  cards  as  I  was 
leaving,  for  he  said  I  should  be  something  to  talk  of  in 

264 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY 

the  future,  and  desired  me  to  make  a  note  of  his  request 
and  reason ;  a  desire  with  which  I  have  thus  complied. 

A  little  after  two  I  struck  across  the  Mtmente.sind  took  a 
rugged  path  southward  up  a  hillside  covered  with  loose 
stones  and  tufts  of  heather.  At  the  top,  as  is  the  habit  of 
the  country,  the  path  disappeared ;  and  I  left  my  she-ass 
munching  heather,  and  went  forward  alone  to  seek  a  road. 

I  was  now  on  the  separation  of  two  vast  watersheds ; 
behind  me  all  the  streams  were  bound  for  the  Garonne 
and  the  Western  Ocean ;  before  me  was  the  basin  of  the 
Rhone.  Hence,  as  from  the  Lo^ere,  you  can  see  in  clear 
weather  the  shining  of  the  Gulf  of  Lyons;  and  perhaps 
from  here  the  soldiers  of  Salomon  may  have  watched  for 
the  topsails  of  Sir  Cloudesley  Shovel,  and  the  long-prom- 
ised aid  from  England.  You  may  take  this  ridge  as  ly- 
ing in  the  heart  of  the  country  of  the  Camisards ;  four  of 
the  five  legions  camped  all  round  it  and  almost  within 
view  —  Salomon  and  Joani  to  the  north,  Castanet  and 
Roland  to  the  south ;  and  when  Julien  had  finished  his 
famous  work,  the  devastation  of  the  High  Cevennes, 
which  lasted  all  through  October  and  "November,  1703, 
and  during  which  four  hundred  and  sixty  villages  and 
hamlets  were,  with  fire  and  pickaxe,  utterly  subverted, 
a  man  standing  on  this  eminence  would  have  looked 
forth  upon  a  silent,  smokeless,  and  dispeopled  land. 
Time  and  man's  activity  have  now  repaired  these  ruins ; 
Cassagnas  is  once  more  roofed  and  sending  up  domestic 
smoke;  and  in  the  chestnut  gardens,  in  low  and  leafy 
corners,  many  a  prosperous  farmer  returns,  when  the 
day's  work  is  done,  to  his  children  and  bright  hearth. 
And  still  it  was  perhaps  the  wildest  view  of  all  my 
journey.     Peak  upon  peak,  chain  upon  chain  of  hills 

265 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

ran  surging  southward,  channelled  and  sculptured  by 
the  winter  streams,  feathered  from  head  to  foot  with 
chestnuts,  and  here  and  there  breaking  out  into  a  coro- 
nal of  cliffs.  The  sun,  which  was  still  far  from  setting,  sent 
a  drift  of  misty  gold  across  the  hill-tops,  but  the  valleys 
were  already  plunged  in  a  profound  and  quiet  shadow. 

A  very  old  shepherd,  hobbling  on  a  pair  of  sticks,  and 
wearing  a  black  cap  of  liberty,  as  if  in  honour  of  his 
nearness  to  the  grave,  directed  me  to  the  road  for  St. 
Germain  de  Calberte.  There  was  something  solemn  in 
the  isolation  of  this  infirm  and  ancient  creature.  Where 
he  dwelt,  how  he  got  upon  this  high  ridge,  or  how  he 
proposed  to  get  down  again,  were  more  than  I  could 
fancy.  Not  far  off  upon  my  right  was  the  famous  Plan 
de  Font  Morte,  where  Pout  with  his  Armenian  sabre 
slashed  down  the  Camisards  of  Seguier.  This,  me- 
thought,  might  be  some  Rip  van  Winkle  of  the  war, 
who  had  lost  his  comrades,  fleeing  before  Poul,  and 
wandered  ever  since  upon  the  mountains.  It  might  be 
news  to  him  that  Cavalier  had  surrendered,  or  Roland 
had  fallen  fighting  with  his  back  against  an  olive.  And 
while  I  was  thus  working  on  my  fancy,  I  heard  him 
hailing  in  broken  tones,  and  saw  him  waving  me  to 
come  back  with  one  of  his  two  sticks.  I  had  already 
got  some  way  past  him;  but,  leaving  Modestine  once 
more,  retraced  my  steps. 

Alas,  it  was  a  very  commonplace  affair.  The  old  gen- 
tleman had  forgot  to  ask  the  pedlar  what  he  sold,  and 
wished  to  remedy  this  neglect. 

I  told  him  sternly,  "Nothing." 

'* Nothing?"  cried  he. 

I  repeated  "Nothing,"  and  made  off. 
266 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY 

It's  odd  to  think  of,  but  perhaps  I  thus  became  as  in- 
explicable to  the  old  man  as  he  had  been  to  me. 

The  road  lay  under  chestnuts,  and  though  I  saw  a 
hamlet  or  two  below  me  in  the  vale,  and  many  lone 
houses  of  the  chestnut  farmers,  it  was  a  very  solitary 
march  all  afternoon ;  and  the  evening  began  early  under- 
neath the  trees.  But  I  heard  the  voice  of  a  woman  sing- 
ing some  sad,  old,  endless  ballad  not  far  off.  It  seemed 
to  be  about  love  and  a  bel  amoureux,  her  handsome 
sweetheart;  and  I  wished  I  could  have  taken  up  the 
strain  and  answered  her,  as  I  went  on  upon  my  invisi- 
ble woodland  way,  weaving,  like  Pippa  in  the  poem,  my 
own  thoughts  with  hers.  What  could  I  have  told  her  ? 
Little  enough ;  and  yet  all  the  heart  requires.  How  the 
world  gives  and  takes  away,  and  brings  sweethearts 
near,  only  to  separate  them  again  into  distant  and  strange 
lands ;  but  to  love  is  the  great  amulet  which  makes  the 
world  a  garden;  and  "hope,  which  comes  to  all,"  out- 
wears the  accidents  of  life,  and  reaches  with  tremulous 
hand  beyond  the  grave  and  death.  Easy  to  say :  yea,  but 
also,  by  God's  mercy,  both  easy  and  grateful  to  believe ! 

We  struck  at  last  into  a  wide  white  high-road,  car- 
peted with  noiseless  dust.  The  night  had  come;  the 
moon  had  been  shining  for  a  long  while  upon  the  op- 
posite mountain ;  when  on  turning  a  corner  my  donkey 
and  1  issued  ourselves  into  her  light.  I  had  emptied  out 
my  brandy  at  Florae,  for  1  could  bear  the  stuff  no  longer, 
and  replaced  it  with  some  generous  and  scented  Volnay ; 
and  now  I  drank  to  the  moon's  sacred  majesty  upon  the 
road.  It  was  but  a  couple  of  mouthfuls ;  yet  I  became 
thenceforth  unconscious  of  my  limbs,  and  my  blood 
flowed  with  luxury.     Even  Modcstine  was  inspired  by 

367 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

this  purified  nocturnal  sunshine,  and  bestirred  her  little 
hoofs  as  to  a  livelier  measure.  The  road  wound  and 
descended  swiftly  among  masses  of  chestnuts.  Hot  dust 
rose  from  our  feet  and  flowed  away.  Our  two  shadows 
—  mine  deformed  with  the  knapsack,  hers  comically  be- 
stridden by  the  pack  —  now  lay  before  us  clearly  out- 
lined on  the  road,  and  now,  as  we  turned  a  corner,  went 
off  into  the  ghostly  distance,  and  sailed  along  the  moun- 
tainlike clouds.  From  time  to  time  a  warm  wind  rustled 
down  the  valley,  and  set  all  the  chestnuts  dangling  their 
bunches  of  foliage  and  fruit;  the  ear  was  filled  with 
whispering  music,  and  the  shadows  danced  in  tune. 
And  next  moment  the  breeze  had  gone  by,  and  in 
all  the  valley  nothing  moved  except  our  travelling  feet. 
On  the  opposite  slope,  the  monstrous  ribs  and  gullies  of 
the  mountain  were  faintly  designed  in  the  moonshine; 
and  high  overhead,  in  some  lone  house,  there  burned 
one  lighted  window,  one  square  spark  of  red  in  the  huge 
field  of  sad  nocturnal  colouring. 

At  a  certain  point,  as  I  went  downward,  turning  many 
acute  angles,  the  moon  disappeared  behind  the  hill;  and 
I  pursued  my  way  in  great  darkness^  until  another  turn- 
ning  shot  me  without  preparation  into  St  Germain  de 
Calberte.  The  place  was  as'eep  and  silent,  and  buried 
in  opaque  night.  Only  from  a  single  open  door,  some 
lamplight  escaped  upon  the  road  to  show  me  I  was 
come  among  men's  habitations.  The  two  last  gossips 
of  the  evening,  still  talking  by  a  garden  wall,  directed 
me  to  the  inn.  The  landlady  was  getting  her  chicks  to 
bed;  the  fire  was  already  out,  and  had,  not  without 
grumbling,  to  be  rekindled;  half  an  hour  later,  and  I 
must  have  gone  supperless  to  roost. 

268 


THE  LAST  DAY 

When  I  awoke  ( Thursday,  ^d  October),  and,  hearing 
a  great  flourishing  of  cocks  and  chuckling  of  contented 
hens,  betook  me  to  the  window  of  the  clean  and  com- 
fortable room  where  I  had  slept  the  night,  I  looked 
forth  on  a  sunshiny  morning  in  a  deep  vale  of  chestnut 
gardens.  It  was  still  early,  and  the  cockcrows,  and  the 
slanting  lights,  and  the  long  shadows  encouraged  me 
to  be  out  and  look  round  me. 

5/.  Germain  de  Calberte  is  a  great  parish  nine  leagues 
round  about.  At  the  period  of  the  wars,  and  imme- 
diately before  the  devastation,  it  was  inhabited  by  two 
hundred  and  seventy-five  families,  of  which  only  nine 
were  Catholic ;  and  it  took  the  cure  seventeen  September 
days  to  go  from  house  to  house  on  horseback  for  a  cen- 
sus. But  the  place  itself,  although  capital  of  a  canton, 
is  scarce  larger  than  a  hamlet.  It  lies  terraced  across 
a  steep  slope  in  the  midst  of  mighty  chestnuts.  The 
Protestant  chapel  stands  below  upon  a  shoulder;  in  the 
midst  of  the  town  is  the  quaint  old  Catholic  church. 

It  was  here  that  poor  Du  Chayla,  the  Christian  martyr, 
kept  his  library  and  held  a  court  of  missionaries ;  here 
he  had  built  his  tomb,  thinking  to  lie  among  a  grateful 
population  whom  he  had  redeemed  from  error;  and 
hither  on  the  morrow  of  his  death  they  brought  the 

269 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

this  purified  nocturnal  sunshine,  and  bestirred  her  little 
hoofs  as  to  a  livelier  measure.  The  road  wound  and 
descended  swiftly  among  masses  of  chestnuts.  Hot  dust 
rose  from  our  feet  and  flowed  away.  Our  two  shadows 
—  mine  deformed  with  the  knapsack,  hers  comically  be- 
stridden by  the  pack  —  now  lay  before  us  clearly  out- 
lined on  the  road,  and  now,  as  we  turned  a  corner,  went 
off  into  the  ghostly  distance,  and  sailed  along  the  moun- 
tainlike clouds.  From  time  to  time  a  warm  wind  rustled 
down  the  valley,  and  set  all  the  chestnuts  dangling  their 
bunches  of  foliage  and  fruit ;  the  ear  was  filled  with 
whispering  music,  and  the  shadows  danced  in  tune. 
And  next  moment  the  breeze  had  gone  by,  and  in 
all  the  valley  nothing  moved  except  our  travelling  feet. 
On  the  opposite  slope,  the  monstrous  ribs  and  gullies  of 
the  mountain  were  faintly  designed  in  the  moonshine; 
and  high  overhead,  in  some  lone  house,  there  burned 
one  lighted  window,  one  square  spark  of  red  in  the  huge 
field  of  sad  nocturnal  colouring. 

At  a  certain  point,  as  I  went  downward,  turning  many 
acute  angles,  the  moon  disappeared  behind  the  hill;  and 
I  pursued  my  way  in  great  darkness^  until  another  turn- 
ning  shot  me  without  preparation  into  St  Germain  de 
Calberte.  The  place  was  asleep  and  silent,  and  buried 
in  opaque  night.  Only  from  a  single  open  door,  some 
lamplight  escaped  upon  the  road  to  show  me  I  was 
come  among  men's  habitations.  The  two  last  gossips 
of  the  evening,  still  talking  by  a  garden  wall,  directed 
me  to  the  inn.  The  landlady  was  getting  her  chicks  to 
bed;  the  fire  was  already  out,  and  had,  not  without 
grumbling,  to  be  rekindled ;  half  an  hour  later,  and  I 
must  have  gone  supperless  to  roost. 

268 


THE  LAST  DAY 

When  I  awoke  ( Thursday,  }d  October),  and,  hearing 
a  great  flourishing  of  cocks  and  chuckling  of  contented 
hens,  betook  me  to  the  window  of  the  clean  and  com- 
fortable room  where  I  had  slept  the  night,  I  looked 
forth  on  a  sunshiny  morning  in  a  deep  vale  of  chestnut 
gardens.  It  was  still  early,  and  the  cockcrows,  and  the 
slanting  lights,  and  the  long  shadows  encouraged  me 
to  be  out  and  look  round  me. 

St.  Germain  de  Calberte  is  a  great  parish  nine  leagues 
round  about.  At  the  period  of  the  wars,  and  imme- 
diately before  the  devastation,  it  was  inhabited  by  two 
hundred  and  seventy-five  families,  of  which  only  nine 
were  Catholic ;  and  it  took  the  cure  seventeen  September 
days  to  go  from  house  to  house  on  horseback  for  a  cen- 
sus. But  the  place  itself,  although  capital  of  a  canton, 
is  scarce  larger  than  a  hamlet.  It  lies  terraced  across 
a  steep  slope  in  the  midst  of  mighty  chestnuts.  The 
Protestant  chapel  stands  below  upon  a  shoulder;  in  the 
midst  of  the  town  is  the  quaint  old  Catholic  church. 

It  was  here  that  poor  Du  Chayla,  the  Christian  martyr, 
kept  his  library  and  held  a  court  of  missionaries ;  here 
he  had  built  his  tomb,  thinking  to  lie  among  a  grateful 
population  whom  he  had  redeemed  from  error;  and 
hither  on  the  morrow  of  his  death  they  brought  the 

269 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

body,  pierced  with  two-and-fifty  wounds,  to  be  interred. 
Clad  in  his  priestly  robes,  he  was  laid  out  in  state  in  the 
church.  The  cure,  taking  his  text  from  Second  Samuel, 
twentieth  chapter  and  twelfth  verse,  "And  Amasa  wal- 
lowed in  his  blood  in  the  highway,"  preached  a  rousing 
sermon,  and  exhorted  his  brethren  to  die  each  at  his 
post,  like  their  unhappy  and  illustrious  superior.  In  the 
midst  of  this  eloquence  there  came  a  breeze  that  Spirit 
Seguier  was  near  at  hand ;  and  behold !  all  the  assem- 
bly took  to  their  horses'  heels,  some  east,  some  west, 
and  the  cur^  himself  as  far  as  Alais. 

Strange  was  the  position  of  this  little  Catholic  me- 
tropolis, a  thimbleful  of  Rome,  in  such  a  wild  and  con- 
trary neighbourhood.  On  the  one  hand,  the  legion  of 
Salomon  overlooked  it  from  Cassagnas;  on  the  other,  it 
was  cut  off  from  assistance  by  the  legion  of  Roland  at 
Mialet.  The  cure,  Louvrelenil,  although  he  took  a 
panic  at  the  archpriest's  funeral,  and  so  hurriedly  de- 
camped to  Alais,  stood  well  by  his  isolated  pulpit,  and 
thence  uttered  fulminations  against  the  crimes  of  the 
Protestants.  Salomon  besieged  the  village  for  an  hour 
and  a  half,  but  was  beat  back.  The  militiamen,  on 
guard  before  the  curb's  door,  could  be  heard,  in  the 
black  hours,  singing  Protestant  psalms  and  holding 
friendly  talk  with  the  insurgents.  And  in  the  morning, 
although  not  a  shot  had  been  fired,  there  would  not  be 
a  round  of  powder  in  their  flasks.  Where  was  it  gone.^ 
All  handed  over  to  the  Camisards  for  a  consideration. 
Untrusty  guardians  for  an  isolated  priest ! 

That  these  continual  stirs  were  once  busy  in  5/.  Ger- 
main de  Calberte,  the  imagination  with  difficulty  re- 
ceives; all  is  now  so  quiet,  the  pulse  of  human  life  now 

270 


THE   LAST   DAY 

beats  so  low  and  still  in  this  hamlet  of  the  mountains. 
Boys  followed  me  a  great  way  off,  like  a  timid  sort  of 
lion-hunters ;  and  people  turned  round  to  have  a  second 
look,  or  came  out  of  their  houses,  as  I  went  by.  My 
passage  was  the  first  event,  you  would  have  fancied, 
since  the  Camisards.  There  was  nothing  rude  or  for- 
ward in  this  observation ;  it  was  but  a  pleased  and  won- 
dering scrutiny,  like  that  of  oxen  or  the  human  infant; 
yet  it  wearied  my  spirits,  and  soon  drove  me  from  the 
street. 

1  took  refuge  on  the  terraces,  which  are  here  greenly 
carpeted  with  sward,  and  tried  to  imitate  with  a  pencil 
the  inimitable  attitudes  of  the  chestnuts  as  they  bear  up 
their  canopy  of  leaves.  Ever  and  again  a  little  wind  went 
by,  and  the  nuts  dropped  all  around  me,  with  a  light  and 
dull  sound,  upon  the  sward.  The  noise  was  as  of  a  thin 
fall  of  great  hailstones ;  but  there  went  with  it  a  cheer- 
ful human  sentiment  of  an  approaching  harvest  and  farm- 
ers rejoicing  in  their  gains.  Looking  up,  I  could  see  the 
brown  nut  peering  through  the  husk,  which  was  already 
gaping;  and  between  the  stems  the  eye  embraced  an 
amphitheatre  of  hill,  sunlit  and  green  with  leaves. 

1  have  not  often  enjoyed  a  place  more  deeply.  I  moved 
in  an  atmosphere  of  pleasure,  and  felt  light  and  quiet 
and  content.  But  perhaps  it  was  not  the  place  alone 
that  so  disposed  my  spirit.  Perhaps  some  one  was 
thinking  of  me  in  another  country;  or  perhaps  some 
thought  of  my  own  had  come  and  gone  unnoticed,  and 
yet  done  me  good.  For  some  thoughts,  which  sure 
would  be  the  most  beautiful,  vanish  before  we  can 
rightly  scan  their  features;  as  though  a  god,  travelling 
by  our  green  highways,  should  but  ope  the  door,  give 

271 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

one  smiling  look  into  the  house,  and  go  again  forever. 
Was  it  Apollo,  or  Mercury,  or  Love  with  folded  wings  ? 
Who  shall  say?  But  we  go  the  lighter  about  our 
business,  and  feel  peace  and  pleasure  in  our  hearts. 

I  dined  with  a  pair  of  Catholics.  They  agreed  in  the 
condemnation  of  a  young  man,  a  Catholic,  who  had 
married  a  Protestant  girl  and  gone  over  to  the  religion 
of  his  wife.  A  Protestant  born  they  could  understand 
and  respect;  indeed,  they  seemed  to  be  of  the  mind  of 
an  old  Catholic  woman,  who  told  me  that  same  day 
there  was  no  difference  between  the  two  sects,  save  that 
*' wrong  was  more  wrong  for  the  Catholic,"  who  had 
more  light  and  guidance ;  but  this  of  a  man's  desertion 
filled  them  with  contempt. 

*Mt  is  a  bad  idea  for  a  man  to  change,"  said  one. 

It  may  have  been  accidental,  but  you  see  how  this 
phrase  pursued  me;  and  for  myself,  I  believe  it  is  the 
current  philosophy  in  these  parts.  I  have  some  difficulty 
in  imagining  a  better.  It's  not  only  a  great  flight  of 
confidence  for  a  man  to  change  his  creed  and  go  out  of 
his  family  for  heaven's  sake ;  but  the  odds  are  —  nay,  and 
the  hope  is  —  that,  with  all  this  great  transition  in  the 
eyes  of  man,  he  has  not  changed  himself  a  hair's-breadth 
to  the  eyes  of  God.  Honour  to  those  who  do  so,  for 
the  wrench  is  sore.  But  it  argues  something  narrow, 
whether  of  strength  or  weakness,  whether  of  the  pro- 
phet or  the  fool,  in  those  who  can  take  a  sufficient  in- 
terest in  such  infinitesimal  and  human  operations,  or 
who  can  quit  a  friendship  for  a  doubtful  process  of  the 
mind.  And  I  think  I  should  not  leave  my  old  creed  for 
another,  changing  only  words  for  other  words ;  but  by 
some  brave  reading,  embrace  it  in  spirit  and  truth,  and 

272 


THE  LAST   DAY 

find  wrong  as  wrong  for  me  as  for  the  best  of  other 
communions. 

ThQphylloxera  was  in  the  neighbourhood ;  and  instead 
of  wine  we  drank  at  dinner  a  more  economical  juice  of 
the  grape  —  la  Parisienne,  they  call  it.  It  is  made  by 
putting  the  fruit  whole  into  a  cask  with  water ;  one  by  one 
the  berries  ferment  and  burst;  what  is  drunk  during  the 
day  is  supplied  at  night  in  water;  so,  with  ever  another 
pitcher  from  the  well,  and  ever  another  grape  exploding 
and  giving  out  its  strength,  one  cask  of  Parisienne  may 
last  a  family  till  spring.  It  is,  as  the  reader  will  anticipate, 
a  feeble  beverage,  but  very  pleasant  to  the  taste. 

What  with  dinner  and  coffee,  it  was  long  past  three 
before  I  left  St.  Germain  de  Calberte.  I  went  down 
beside  the  Gardon  of  Mialet,  a  great  glaring  water- 
course devoid  of  water,  and  through  St.  Etienne  de 
VaUie  Frangaise,  or  Fat  Francesque,  as  they  used  to 
call  it;  and  towards  evening  began  to  ascend  the  hill  of 
5/.  Pierre.  It  was  a  long  and  steep  ascent.  Behind  me 
an  empty  carriage  returning  to  St.  Jean  du  Gard  kept 
hard  upon  my  tracks,  and  near  the  summit  overtook  me. 
The  driver,  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  was  sure  I  was  a 
pedlar;  but,  unlike  others,  he  was  sure  of  what  I  had  to 
sell.  He  had  noticed  the  blue  wool  which  hung  out  of 
my  pack  at  either  end ;  and  from  this  he  had  decided, 
beyond  my  power  to  alter  his  decision,  that  I  dealt  in 
blue-wool  collars,  such  as  decorate  the  neck  of  the 
French  draught-horse. 

I  had  hurried  to  the  topmost  powers  of  Modestine,  for 
I  dearly  desired  to  see  the  view  upon  the  other  side  be- 
fore the  day  had  faded.  But  it  was  night  when  I  reached 
the  summit;  the  moon  was  riding  high  and  clear;  and 

273 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

only  a  few  gray  streaks  of  twilight  lingered  in  the  west. 
A  yawning  valley,  gulfed  in  blackness,  lay  like  a  hole  in 
created  nature  at  my  feet;  but  the  outline  of  the  hills 
was  sharp  against  the  sky.  There  was  Mount  Aigoal, 
the  stronghold  of  Castanet.  And  Castanet,  not  only  as 
an  active  undertaking  leader,  deserves  some  mention 
among  Camisards ;  for  there  is  a  spray  of  rose  among 
his  laurel ;  and  he  showed  how,  even  in  a  public  tragedy, 
love  will  have  its  way.  In  the  high  tide  of  war  he  mar- 
ried, in  his  mountain  citadel,  a  young  and  pretty  lass 
called  Mariette.  There  were  great  rejoicings ;  .and  the 
bridegroom  released  five-and-twenty  prisoners  in  hon- 
our of  the  glad  event.  Seven  months  afterwards  Mariette, 
the  Princess  of  the  Cevennes,  as  they  called  her  in  deri- 
sion, fell  into  the  hands  of  the  authorities,  where  it  was 
like  to  have  gone  hard  with  her.  But  Castanet  was  a 
man  of  execution,  and  loved  his  wife.  He  fell  on  Valle- 
raugue,  and  got  a  lady  there  for  a  hostage;  and  for  the 
first  and  last  time  in  that  war  there  was  an  exchange  of 
prisoners.  Their  daughter,  pledge  of  some  starry  night 
upon  Mount  Aigoat,  has  left  descendants  to  this  day. 

Modestine  and  I  —  it  was  our  last  meal  together — had 
a  snack  upon  the  top  of  St.  Pierre,  I  on  a  heap  of  stones, 
she  standing  by  me  in  the  moonlight  and  decorously 
eating  bread  out  of  my  hand.  The  poor  brute  would 
eat  more  heartily  in  this  manner;  for  she  had  a  sort  of 
affection  for  me,  which  I  was  soon  to  betray. 

It  was  a  long  descent  upon  St.  Jean  du  Card,  and  we 
met  no  one  but  a  carter,  visible  afar  off  by  the  glint  of 
the  moon  on  his  extinguished  lantern. 

Before  ten  o'clock  we  had  got  in  and  were  at  supper; 
fifteen  miles  and  a  stiff  hill  in  little  beyond  six  hours ! 

274 


FAREWELL,   MODESTINE 

On  examination,  on  the  morning  of  October  4th,  Mo^ 
define  was  pronounced  unfit  for  travel  She  would 
need  at*  least  two  days'  repose  according  to  the  ostler; 
but  I  was  now  eager  to  reach  Alais  for  my  letters ;  and, 
being  in  a  civilized  country  of  stage-coaches,  I  deter- 
mined to  sell  my  lady-friend  and  be  off  by  the  diligence 
that  afternoon.  Our  yesterday's  march,  with  the  testi- 
mony of  the  driver  who  had  pursued  us  up  the  long  hill 
of  St.  Pierre,  spread  a  favourable  notion  of  my  donkey's 
capabilities.  Intending  purchasers  were  aware  of  an 
unrivalled  opportunity.  Before  ten  I  had  an  offer  of 
twenty-five  francs;  and  before  noon,  after  a  desperate 
engagement,  I  sold  her,  saddle  and  all,  for  five-and- 
thirty.  The  pecuniary  gain  is  not  obvious,  but  I  had 
bought  freedom  into  the  bargain. 

5/.  Jean  du  Gard  is  a  large  place  and  largely  Protes- 
tant. The  maire,  a.  Protestant,  asked  me  to  help  him 
in  a  small  matter  which  is  itself  characteristic  of  the 
country.  The  young  women  of  the  Cevennes  profit  by 
the  common  religion  and  the  difference  of  the  language 
to  go  largely  as  governesses  into  England;  and  here  was 
one,  a  native  of  Mialet,  struggling  with  English  circu- 
lars from  two  different  agencies  in  London.     I  gave  what 

275 


TRAVELS  WITH   A   DONKEY 

help  I  could ;  and  volunteered  some  advice,  which  struck 
me  as  being  excellent. 

One  thing  more  I  note.  The  phylloxera  has  ravaged 
the  vineyards  in  this  neighbourhood;  and  in  the  early 
morning,  under  some  chestnuts  by  the  river,  I  found  a 
party  of  men  working  with  a  cider-press.  I  could  not 
at  first  make  out  what  they  were  after,  and  asked  one 
fellow  to  explain. 

"Making  cider,"  he  said.  "Qui,  c'est  comme  ^a. 
Comme  dans  le  nord  I ' ' 

There  was  a  ring  of  sarcasm  in  his  voice ;  the  country 
was  going  to  the  devil. 

It  was  not  until  I  was  fairly  seated  by  the  driver,  and 
rattling  through  a  rocky  valley  with  dwarf  olives,  that 
I  became  aware  of  my  bereavement.  I  had  lost  Modes- 
tine.  Up  to  that  moment  I  had  thought  I  hated  her; 
but  now  she  was  gone, 

"And,  o, 
The  difference  to  me  !  " 

For  twelve  days  we  had  been  fast  companions ;  we 
had  travelled  upwards  of  a  hundred  and  twenty  miles, 
crossed  several  respectable  ridges,  and  jogged  along  with 
our  six  legs  by  many  a  rocky  and  many  a  boggy  by- 
road. After  the  first  day,  although  sometimes  I  was 
hurt  and  distant  in  manner,  I  still  kept  my  patience; 
and  as  for  her,  poor  soul  !  she  had  come  to  regard  me 
as  a  god.  She  loved  to  eat  out  of  my  hand.  She  was 
patient,  elegant  in  form,  the  colour  of  an  ideal  mouse, 
and  inimitably  small.  Her  faults  were  those  of  her  race 
and  sex;  her  virtues  were  her  own.     Farewell,  and  if 

forever 

276 


FAREWELL,  MODESTINE 

Father  Adam  wept  when  he  sold  her  to  me ;  after  I 
had  sold  her  in  my  turn,  I  was  tempted  to  follow  his 
example;  and  being  alone  with  a  stage-driver  and  four 
or  five  agreeable  young  men,  I  did  not  hesitate  to  yield 
to  my  emotion. 


277 


EDINBURGH 

Picturesque  Notes 


CHAPTER  I 

INTRODUCTORY 

THE  ancient  and  famous  metropolis  of  the  North  sits 
overlooking  a  windy  estuary  from  the  slope  and 
summit  of  three  hills.  No  situation  could  be  more  com- 
manding for  the  head  city  of  a  kingdom ;  none  better 
chosen  for  noble  prospects.  From  her  tall  precipice 
and  terraced  gardens  she  looks  far  and  wide  on  the  sea 
and  broad  champaigns.  To  the  east  you  may  catch  at 
sunset  the  spark  of  the  May  lighthouse,  where  the  Firth 
expands  into  the  German  Ocean ;  and  away  to  the  west, 
over  all  the  carse  of  Stirling,  you  can  see  the  first  snows 
upon  Ben  Ledi. 

But  Edinburgh  pays  cruelly  for  her  high  seat  in  one  of 
the  vilest  climates  under  heaven.  She  is  liable  to  be 
beaten  upon  by  all  the  winds  that  blow,  to  be  drenched 
with  rain,  to  be  buried  in  cold  sea  fogs  out  of  the  east, 
and  powdered  with  the  snow  as  it  comes  flying  south- 
ward from  the  Highland  hills.  The  weather  is  raw  and 
boisterous  in  winter,  shifty  and  ungenial  in  summer,  and 
a  downright  meteorological  purgatory  in  the  spring. 
The  delicate  die  early,  and  I,  as  a  survivor,  among  bleak 
winds  and  plumping  rain,  have  been  sometimes  tempted 
to  envy  them  their  fate.  For  all  who  love  shelter  and 
the  blessings  of  the  sun,  who  hate  dark  weather  and 

281   • 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

perpetual  tilting  against  squalls,  there  could  scarcely  be 
found  a  more  unhomely  and  harassing  place  of  resi- 
dence. Many  such  aspire  angrily  after  that  Somewhere- 
else  of  the  imagination,  where  all  troubles  are  supposed 
to  end.  They  lean  over  the  great  bridge  which  joins 
the  New  Town  with  the  Old  —  that  windiest  spot,  or 
high  altar,  in  this  northern  temple  of  the  winds  —  and 
watch  the  trains  smoking  out  from  under  them  and 
vanishing  into  the  tunnel  on  a  voyage  to  brighter  skies. 
Happy  the  passengers  who  shake  off  the  dust  of  Edin- 
burgh, and  have  heard  for  the  last  time  the  cry  of  the 
east  wind  among  her  chimney-tops !  And  yet  the  place 
establishes  an  interest  in  people's  hearts ;  go  where  they 
will,  they  find  no  city  of  the  same  distinction ;  go  where 
they  will,  they  take  a  pride  in  their  old  home. 

Venice,  it  has  been  said,  differs  from  all  other  cities  in 
the  sentiment  which  she  inspires.  The  rest  may  have 
admirers ;  she  only,  a  famous  fair  one,  counts  lovers  in 
her  train.  And  indeed,  even  by  her  kindest  friends, 
Edinburgh  is  not  considered  in  a  similar  sense.  These 
like  her  for  many  reasons,  not  any  one  of  which  is  satis- 
factory in  itself.  They  like  her  whimsically,  if  you  will, 
and  somewhat  as  a  virtuoso  dotes  upon  his  cabinet. 
Her  attraction  is  romantic  in  the  narrowest  meaning  of 
the  term.  Beautiful  as  she  is,  she  is  not  so  much  beau- 
tiful as  interesting.  She  is  pre-eminently  Gothic,  and 
all  the  more  so  since  she  has  set  herself  off  with  some 
Greek  airs,  and  erected  classic  temples  on  her  crags.  In 
a  word,  and  above  all,  she  is  a  curiosity.  The  Palace  of 
Holyrood  has  been  left  aside  in  the  growth  of  Edinburgh ; 
and  stands  grey  and  silent  in  a  workman's  quarter  and 
among  breweries  and  gas  works.    It  is  a  house  of  many 

282 


INTRODUCTORY 

memories.  Great  people  of  yore,  kings  and  queens, 
buffoons  and  grave  ambassadors,  played  their  stately 
farce  for  centuries  in  Holyrood.  Wars  have  been  plotted, 
dancing  has  lasted  deep  into  the  night,  murder  has  been 
done  in  its  chambers.  There  Prince  Charlie  held  his 
phantom  levees,  and  in  a  very  gallant  manner  represented 
a  fallen  dynasty  for  some  hours.  Now,  all  these  things 
of  clay  are  mingled  with  the  dust,  the  king's  crown  it- 
self is  shown  for  sixpence  to  the  vulgar;  but  the  stone 
palace  has  outlived  these  changes.  For  fifty  weeks  to- 
gether, it  is  no  more  than  a  show  for  tourists  and  a  mu- 
seum of  old  furniture ;  but  on  the  fifty-first,  behold  the 
palace  re-awakened  and  mimicking  its  past.  The  Lord 
Commissioner,  a  kind  of  stage  sovereign,  sits  among 
stage  courtiers;  a  coach  and  six  and  clattering  escort 
come  and  go  before  the  gate;  at  night,  the  windows  are 
lighted  up,  and  its  near  neighbours,  the  workmen,  may 
dance  in  their  own  houses  to  the  palace  music.  And  in 
this  the  palace  is  typical.  There  is  a  spark  among  the 
embers;  from  time  to  time  the  old  volcano  smokes. 
Edinburgh  has  but  partly  abdicated,  and  still  wears,  in 
parody,  her  metropolitan  trappings.  Half  a  capital  and 
half  a  country  town,  the  whole  city  leads  a  double  ex- 
istence; it  has  long  trances  of  the  one  and  flashes  of  the 
other;  like  the  king  of  the  Black  Isles,  it  is  half  alive  and 
half  a  monumental  marble.  There  are  armed  men  and 
cannon  in  the  citadel  overhead;  you  may  see  the  troops 
marshalled  on  the  high  parade;  and  at  night  after  the 
early  winter  evenfall,  and  in  the  morning  before  the  lag- 
gard winter  dawn,  the  wind  carries  abroad  over  Edin- 
burgh the  sound  of  drums  and  bugles.  Grave  judges 
sit  bewigged  in  what  was  once  the  scene  of  imperial  de- 

283 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON  EDINBURGH 

liberations.  Close  by  in  the  High  Street  perhaps  the 
trumpets  may  sound  about  the  stroke  of  noon ;  and  you 
see  a  troop  of  citizens  in  tawdry  masquerade;  tabard 
*ibove,  heather-mixture  trouser  below,  and  the  men 
themselves  trudging  in  the  mud  among  unsympathetic 
bystanders.  The  grooms  of  a  well-appointed  circus 
tread  the  streets  with  a  better  presence.  And  yet  these 
are  the  Heralds  and  Pursuivants  of  Scotland,  who  are 
about  to  proclaim  a  new  law  of  the  United  Kingdom  be- 
fore two  score  boys,  and  thieves,  and  hackney-coach- 
men. Meanwhile  every  hour  the  bell  of  the  University 
rings  out  over  the  hum  of  the  streets,  and  every  hour  a 
double  tide  of  students,  coming  and  going,  fills  the  deep 
archways.  And  lastly,  one  night  in  the  springtime  — 
or  say  one  morning  rather,  at  the  peep  of  day  —  late  folk 
may  hear  the  voices  of  many  men  singing  a  psalm  in 
unison  from  a  church  on  one  side  of  the  old  High  Street; 
and  a  little  after,  or  perhaps  a  little  before,  the  sound  of 
many  men  singing  a  psalm  in  unison  from  another  church 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  way.  There  will  be  some- 
thing in  the  words  about  the  dew  of  Hermon,  and  how 
goodly  it  is  to  see  brethren  dwelling  together  in  unity. 
And  the  late  folk  will  tell  themselves  that  all  this  singing 
denotes  the  conclusion  of  two  yearly  ecclesiastical  par- 
liaments —  the  parliaments  of  Churches  which  are  bro- 
thers in  many  admirable  virtues,  but  not  specially  like 
brothers  in  this  particular  of  a  tolerant  and  peaceful  life. 
Again,  meditative  people  will  find  a  charm  in  a  cer- 
tain consonancy  between  the  aspect  of  the  city  and  its 
odd  and  stirring  history.  Few  places,  if  any,  offer  a 
more  barbaric  display  of  contrasts  to  the  eye.  In  the 
very  midst  stands  one  of  the  most  satisfactory  crags  in 

284 


INTRODUCTORY 

nature — a  Bass  Rock  upon  dry  land,  rooted  in  a  garden, 
shaken  by  passing  trains,  carrying  a  crown  of  battle- 
ments and  turrets,  and  describing  its  warlike  shadow 
over  the  liveliest  and  brightest  thoroughfare  of  the  New 
Town.  From  their  smoky  beehives,  ten  stories  high, 
the  unwashed  look  down  upon  the  open  squares  and 
gardens  of  the  wealthy;  and  gay  people  sunning  them- 
selves along  Princes  Street,  with  its  mile  of  commercial 
palaces  all  beflagged  upon  some  great  occasion,  see, 
across  a  gardened  valley  set  with  statues,  where  the 
washings  of  the  old  town  flutter  in  the  breeze  at  its  high 
windows.  And  then,  upon  all  sides,  what  a  clashing 
of  architecture !  In  this  one  valley,  where  the  life  of  the 
town  goes  most  busily  forward,  there  may  be  seen, 
shown  one  above  and  behind  another  by  the  accidents 
of  the  ground,  buildings  in  almost  every  style  upon  the 
globe.  Egyptian  and  Greek  temples,  Venetian  palaces 
and  Gothic  spires,  are  huddled  one  over  another  in  a 
most  admired  disorder;  while,  above  all,  the  brute  mass 
of  the  Castle  and  the  summit  of  Arthur's  Seat  look  down 
upon  these  imitations  with  a  becoming  dignity,  as  the 
works  of  Nature  may  look  down  upon  the  monuments  of 
Art.  But  Nature  is  a  more  indiscriminate  patroness  than 
we  imagine,  and  in  no  way  frightened  of  a  strong  effect. 
The  birds  roost  as  willingly  among  the  Corinthian  cap- 
itals as  in  the  crannies  of  the  crag;  the  same  atmosphere 
and  daylight  clothe  the  eternal  rock  and  yesterday's  imi- 
tation portico ;  and  as  the  soft  northern  sunshine  throws 
out  everything  into  a  glorified  distinctness  —  or  easterly 
mists,  coming  up  with  the  blue  evening,  fuse  all  these 
incongruous  features  into  one,  and  the  lamps  begin  to 
flitter  along  the  street,  and  faint  lights  to  burn  in  the 

285 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

high  windows  across  the  valley  —  the  feeling  grows 
upon  you  that  this  also  is  a  piece  of  nature  in  the  most 
intimate  sense ;  that  this  profusion  of  eccentricities,  this 
dream  in  masonry  and  living  rock,  is  not  a  drop-scene 
in  a  theatre,  but  a  city  in  the  world  of  every-day  reality, 
connected  by  railway  and  telegraph-wire  with  all  the 
capitals  of  Europe,  and  inhabited  by  citizens  of  the  fa- 
miliar type,  who  keep  ledgers,  and  attend  church,  and 
have  sold  their  immortal  portion  to  a  daily  paper.  By 
all  the  canons  of  romance,  the  place  demands  to  be  half 
deserted  and  leaning  towards  decay;  birds  we  might 
admit  in  profusion,  the  play  of  the  sun  and  winds,  and 
a  few  gipsies  encamped  in  the  chief  thoroughfare ;  but 
these  citizens,  with  their  cabs  and  tramways,  their  trains 
and  posters,  are  altogether  out  of  key.  Chartered  tour- 
ists, they  make  free  with  historic  localities,  and  rear  their 
young  among  the  most  picturesque  sites  with  a  grand 
human  indifference.  To  see  them  thronging  by,  in 
their  neat  clothes  and  conscious  moral  rectitude,  and 
with  a  little  air  of  possession  that  verges  on  the  absurd, 
is  not  the  least  striking  feature  of  the  place.* 

And  the  story  of  the  town  is  as  eccentric  as  its  ap- 
pearance. For  centuries  it  was  a  capital  thatched  with 
heather,  and  more  than  once,  in  the  evil  days  of  English 
invasion,  it  has  gone  up  in  flame  to  heaven,  a  beacon  to 

*  These  sentences  have,  I  hear,  given  offence  in  my  native  town,  and 
a  proportionable  pleasure  to  our  rivals  of  Glasgow.  I  confess  the  news 
caused  me  both  pain  and  merriment.  May  I  remark,  as  a  balm  for 
wounded  fellow-townsmen,  that  there  is  nothing  deadly  in  my  accu- 
sations? Small  blame  to  them  if  they  keep  ledgers:  'tis  an  excellent 
business  habit.  Churchgoing  is  not,  that  ever  I  heard,  a  subject  of  re- 
proach; decency  of  linen  is  a  mark  of  prosperous  affairs,  and  conscious 
moral  rectitude  one  of  the  tokens  of  good  living.     It  is  not  their  fault 

286 


INTRODUCTORY 

ships  at  sea.  It  was  thejousting-ground  of  jealous  no- 
bles, not  only  on  Greenside  or  by  the  King's  Stables, 
where  set  tournaments  were  fought  to  the  sound  of 
trumpets  and  under  the  authority  of  the  royal  presence, 
but  in  every  alley  where  there  was  room  to  cross  swords, 
and  in  the  main  street,  where  popular  tumult  under  the 
Blue  Blanket  alternated  with  the  brawls  of  outlandish 
clansmen  and  retainers.  Down  in  the  palace  John  Knox 
reproved  his  queen  in  the  accents  of  modern  democracy. 
In  the  town,  in  one  of  those  little  shops  plastered  like  so 
many  swallows'  nests  among  the  buttresses  of  the  old 
Cathedral,  that  familiar  autocrat,  James  VI.,  would  gladly 
share  a  bottle  of  wine  with  George  Heriot  the  goldsmith. 
Up  on  the  Pentland  Hills,  that  so  quietly  look  down  on 
the  Castle  with  the  city  lying  in  waves  around  it,  those 
mad  and  dismal  fanatics,  the  Sweet  Singers,  haggard 
from  long  exposure  on  the  moors,  sat  day  and  night 
with  "tearful  psalms  "  to  see  Edinburgh  consumed  with 
fire  from  heaven,  like  another  Sodom  or  Gomorrah. 
There,  in  the  Grass-market,  stiff-necked,  covenanting 
heroes  offered  up  the  often  unnecessary,  but  not  less 
honourable,  sacrifice  of  their  lives,  and  bade  eloquent 
farewell  to  sun,  moon,  and  stars,  and  earthly  friend- 
ships, or  died  silent  to  the  roll  of  drums.  Down  by  yon 
outlet  rode  Grahame  of  Claverhouse  and  his  thirty  dra- 

if  the  city  calls  for  something  more  specious  by  way  of  inhabitants.  A 
man  in  a  frock-coat  looks  out  of  place  upon  an  Alp  or  Pyramid,  al- 
though he  has  the  virtues  of  a  Peabody  and  the  talents  of  a  Bentham. 
And  let  them  console  themselves  —  they  do  as  well  as  anybody  else; 
the  population  of  (let  us  say)  Chicago  would  cut  quite  as  rueful  a  figure 
on  the  same  romantic  stage.  To  the  Glasgow  people  1  would  say  only 
one  word,  but  that  is  of  gold:  /  have  not  yet  written  a  hook  about 
Glasgow. 

287 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

goons,  with  the  town  beating  to  arms  behind  their 
horses'  tails  —  a  sorry  handful  thus  riding  for  their  lives, 
but  with  a  man  at  the  head  who  was  to  return  in  a  dif- 
ferent temper,  make  a  dash  that  staggered  Scotland  to 
the  heart,  and  die  happily  in  the  thick  of  fight.  There 
Aikenhead  was  hanged  for  a  piece  of  boyish  incredulity ; 
there,  a  few  years  afterwards,  David  Hume  ruined  Phil- 
osophy and  Faith,  an  undisturbed  and  well-reputed  citi- 
zen ;  and  thither,  in  yet  a  few  years  more,  Burns  came 
from  the  plough-tail,  as  to  an  academy  of  gilt  unbelief 
and  artificial  letters.  There,  when  the  great  exodus  was 
made  across  the  valley,  and  the  new  town  began  to 
spread  abroad  its  draughty  parallelograms  and  rear  its 
long  frontage  on  the  opposing  hill,  there  was  such  a  flit- 
ting, such  a  change  of  domicile  and  dweller,  as  was 
never  excelled  in  the  history  of  cities :  the  cobbler  suc- 
ceeded the  earl ;  the  beggar  ensconced  himself  by  the 
judge's  chimney;  what  had  been  a  palace  was  used  as 
a  pauper  refuge ;  and  great  mansions  were  so  parcelled 
out  among  the  least  and  lowest  in  society,  that  the 
hearthstone  of  the  old  proprietor  was  thought  large 
enough  to  be  partitioned  off  into  a  bedroom  by  the 
new. 


288 


CHAPTER  II 

OLD   TOWN  —  THE   LANDS 

The  Old  Town,  it  is  pretended,  is  the  chief  character- 
istic, and,  from  a  picturesque  point  of  view,  the  liver- 
wing  of  Edinburgh.  It  is  one  of  the  most  common 
forms  of  depreciation  to  throw  cold  water  on  the  whole 
by  adroit  over-commendation  of  a  part,  since  everything 
worth  judging,  whether  it  be  a  man,  a  work  of  art,  or 
only  a  fine  city,  must  be  judged  upon  its  merits  as  a 
whole.  The  Old  Town  depends  for  much  of  its  effect 
on  the  new  quarters  that  lie  around  it,  on  the  sufficiency 
of  its  situation,  and  on  the  hills  that  back  it  up.  If  you 
were  to  set  it  somewhere  else  by  itself,  it  would  look 
remarkably  like  Stirling  in  a  bolder  and  loftier  edition. 
The  point  is  to  see  this  embellished  Stirling  planted  in 
the  midst  of  a  large,  active,  and  fantastic  modern  city ; 
for  there  the  two  re-act  in  a  picturesque  sense,  and  the 
one  is  the  making  of  the  other. 

The  Old  Town  occupies  a  sloping  ridge  or  tail  of 
diluvial  matter,  protected,  in  some  subsidence  of  the 
waters,  by  the  Castle  cliffs  which  fortify  it  to  the  west. 
On  the  one  side  of  it  and  the  other  the  new  towns  of  the 
south  and  of  the  north  occupy  their  lower,  broader,  and 
more  gentle  hill-tops.  Thus,  the  quarter  of  the  Castle 
overtops  the  whole  city  and  keeps  an  open  view  to  sea 

289 


PICTURESQyE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

and  land.  It  dominates  for  miles  on  every  side;  and 
people  on  the  decks  of  ships,  or  ploughing  in  quiet  coun- 
try places  over  in  Fife,  can  see  the  banner  on  the  Castle 
battlements,  and  the  smoke  of  the  Old  Town  blowing 
abroad  over  the  subjacent  country.  A  city  that  is  set 
upon  a  hill.  It  was,  I  suppose,  from  this  distant  aspect 
that  she  got  her  nickname  of  Auld  Reekie.  Perhaps  it 
was  given  her  by  people  who  had  never  crossed  her 
doors :  day  after  day,  from  their  various  rustic  Pisgahs, 
they  had  seen  the  pile  of  building  on  the  hill-top,  and 
the  long  plume  of  smoke  over  the  plain;  so  it  appeared 
to  them ;  so  it  had  appeared  to  their  fathers  tilling  the 
same  field ;  and  as  that  was  all  they  knew  of  the  place,  it 
could  be  all  expressed  in  these  two  words. 

Indeed,  even  on  a  nearer  view,  the  Old  Town  is  prop- 
erly smoked;  and  though  it  is  well  washed  with  rain 
all  the  year  round,  it  has  a  grim  and  sooty  aspect  among 
its  younger  suburbs.  It  grew,  under  the  law  that  reg- 
ulates the  growth  of  walled  cities  in  precarious  situa- 
tions, not  in  extent,  but  in  height  and  density.  Public 
buildings  were  forced,  wherever  there  was  room  for 
them,  into  the  midst  of  thoroughfares;  thoroughfares 
were  diminished  into  lanes ;  houses  sprang  up  story 
after  story,  neighbour  mounting  upon  neighbour's 
shoulder,  as  in  some  Black  Hole  of  Calcutta,  until  the 
population  slept  fourteen  or  fifteen  deep  in  a  vertical  di- 
rection. The  tallest  of  these  lands,  as  they  are  locally 
termed,  have  long  since  been  burnt  out;  but  to  this 
day  it  is  not  uncommon  to  see  eight  or  ten  windows 
at  a  flight;  and  the  cliff  of  building  which  hangs  im- 
minent over  Waverley  Bridge  would  still  put  many 
natural  precipices  to  shame.     The  cellars  are  already 

290 


OLD  TOWN— THE   LANDS 

high  above  the  gazer's  head,  planted  on  the  steep  hill- 
side; as  for  the  garret,  all  the  furniture  may  be  in  the 
pawnshop,  but  it  commands  a  famous  prospect  to  the 
Highland  hills.  The  poor  man  may  roost  up  there  in 
the  centre  of  Edinburgh,  and  yet  have  a  peep  of  the 
green  country  from  his  window ;  he  shall  see  the  quar- 
ters of  the  well-to-do  fathoms  underneath,  with  their 
broad  squares  and  gardens ;  he  shall  have  nothing  over- 
head but  a  few  spires,  the  stone  top-gallants  of  the  city ; 
and  perhaps  the  wind  may  reach  him  with  a  rustic 
pureness,  and  bring  a  smack  of  the  sea,  or  of  flowering 
lilacs  in  the  spring. 

It  is  almost  the  correct  literary  sentiment  to  deplore 
the  revolutionary  improvements  of  Mr.  Chambers  and 
his  following.  It  is  easy  to  be  a  conservator  of  the  dis- 
comforts of  others ;  indeed,  it  is  only  our  good  qualities 
we  find  it  irksome  to  conserve.  Assuredly,  in  driving 
streets  through  the  black  labyrinth,  a  few  curious  old 
corners  have  been  swept  away,  and  some  associations 
turned  out  of  house  and  home.  But  what  slices  of  sun- 
light, what  breaths  of  clean  air,  have  been  let  in !  And 
what  a  picturesque  world  remains  untouched!  You 
go  under  dark  arches,  and  down  dark  stairs  and  alleys. 
The  way  is  so  narrow  that  you  can  lay  a  hand  on  either 
wall ;  so  steep  that,  in  greasy  winter  weather,  the  pave- 
ment is  almost  as  treacherous  as  ice.  Washing  dangles 
above  washing  from  the  windows;  the  houses  bulge 
outwards  upon  flimsy  brackets ;  you  see  a  bit  of  sculp- 
ture in  a  dark  corner;  at  the  top  of  all,  a  gable  and  a 
few  crowsteps  are  printed  on  the  sky.  Here,  you  come 
into  a  court  where  the  children  are  at  play  and  the 
grown  people  sit  upon  their  doorsteps,  and  perhaps  a 

291 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

church  spire  shows  itself  above  the  roofs.  Here,  in  the 
narrowest  of  the  entry,  you  find  a  great  old  mansion 
still  erect,  with  some  insignia  of  its  former  state — some 
scutcheon,  some  holy  or  courageous  motto,  on  the  lin- 
tel. The  local  antiquary  points  out  where  famous  and 
well-born  people  had  their  lodging;  and  as  you  look 
up,  out  pops  the  head  of  a  slatternly  woman  from 
the  countess's  window.  The  Bedouins  camp  within 
Pharaoh's  palace  walls,  and  the  old  war-ship  is  given 
over  to  the  rats.  We  are  already  a  far  way  from  the 
days  when  powdered  heads  were  plentiful  in  these 
alleys,  with  jolly,  port- wine  faces  underneath.  Even  in 
the  chief  thoroughfares  Irish  washings  flutter  at  the  win- 
dows, and  the  pavements  are  encumbered  with  loiterers. 
These  loiterers  are  a  true  character  of  the  scene. 
Some  shrewd  Scotch  workmen  may  have  paused  on 
their  way  to  a  job,  debating  Church  affairs  and  politics 
with  their  tools  upon  their  arm.  But  the  most  part  are 
of  a  different  order — skulking  jail-birds;  unkempt,  bare- 
foot children;  big-mouthed,  robust  women,  in  a  sort 
of  uniform  of  striped  flannel  petticoat  and  short  tartan 
shawl :  among  these,  a  few  supervising  constables  and 
a  dismal  sprinkling  of  mutineers  and  broken  men  f)"ora 
higher  ranks  in  society,  with  some  mark  of  better  days 
upon  them,  like  a  brand.  In  a  place  no  larger  than 
Edinburgh,  and  where  the  traffic  is  mostly  centred  in 
five  or  six  chief  streets,  the  same  face  comes  often  under 
the  notice  of  an  idle  stroller.  In  fact,  from  this  point 
of  view,  Edinburgh  is  not  so  much  a  small  city  as  the 
largest  of  small  towns.  It  is  scarce  possible  to  avoid 
observing  your  neighbours;  and  1  never  yet  heard  of 
any  one  who  tried.     It  has  b^en  my  fortune,  in  this 

292 


OLD  TOWN— THE   LANDS 

anonymous  accidental  way,  to  watch  more  than  one  of 
these  downward  travellers  for  some  stages  on  the  road 
to  ruin.  One  man  must  have  been  upwards  of  sixty 
before  I  first  observed  him,  and  he  made  then  a  decent, 
personable  figure  in  broadcloth  of  the  best.  For  three 
years  he  kept  falling — grease  coming  and  buttons  going 
from  the  square-skirted  coat,  the  face  puffmg  and  pim- 
pling,  the  shoulders  growing  bowed,  the  hair  falling 
scant  and  grey  upon  his  head ;  and  the  last  that  ever  I 
saw  of  him,  he  was  standing  at  the  mouth  of  an  entry 
with  several  men  in  moleskin,  three  parts  drunk,  and 
his  old  black  raiment  daubed  with  mud.  I  fancy  that  I 
still  can  hear  him  laugh.  There  was  something  heart- 
breaking in  this  gradual  declension  at  so  advanced  an 
age ;  you  would  have  thought  a  man  of  sixty  out  of  the 
reach  of  these  calamities ;  you  would  have  thought  that 
he  was  niched  by  that  time  into  a  safe  place  in  life, 
whence  he  could  pass  quietly  and  honourably  into  the 
grave. 

One  of  the  earliest  marks  of  these  degringolades  is,  that 
the  victim  begins  to  disappear  from  the  New  Town 
thoroughfares,  and  takes  to  the  High  Street,  like  a 
wounded  animal  to  the  woods.  And  such  an  one  is 
the  type  of  the  quarter.  It  also  has  fallen  socially.  A 
scutcheon  over  the  door  somewhat  jars  in  sentiment 
where  there  is  a  washing  at  every  window.  The  old 
man,  when  I  saw  him  last,  wore  the  coat  in  which  he 
had  played  the  gentleman  three  years  before ;  and  that 
was  just  what  gave  him  so  pre-eminent  an  air  of  wretch- 
edness. 

It  is  true  that  the  over-population  was  at  least  as  dense 
in  the  epoch  of  lords  and  ladies,  and  that  now-a-days 

293 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

some  customs  which  made  Edinburgh  notorious  of  yore 
have  been  fortunately  pretermitted.  But  an  aggregation 
of  comfort  is  not  distasteful  like  an  aggregation  of  the 
reverse.  Nobody  cares  how  many  lords  and  ladies, 
and  divines  and  lawyers,  may  have  been  crowded  into 
these  houses  in  the  past  —  perhaps  the  more  the  merrier. 
The  glasses  clink  around  the  china  punch-bowl,  some 
one  touches  the  virginals,  there  are  peacocks'  feathers 
on  the  chimney,  and  the  tapers  burn  clear  and  pale  in 
the  red  fire-light.  That  is  not  an  ugly  picture  in  itself, 
nor  will  it  become  ugly  upon  repetition.  All  the  better 
if  the  like  were  going  on  in  every  second  room ;  the 
land  would  only  look  the  more  inviting.  Times  are 
changed.  In  one  house,  perhaps,  two  score  families 
herd  together;  and,  perhaps,  not  one  of  them  is  wholly 
out  of  the  reach  of  want.  The  great  hotel  is  given  over 
to  discomfort  from  the  foundation  to  the  chimney-tops ; 
everywhere  a  pinching,  narrow  habit,  scanty  meals,  and 
an  air  of  sluttishness  and  dirt.  In  the  first  room  there 
is  a  birth,  in  another  a  death,  in  a  third  a  sordid  drink- 
ing-bout, and  the  detective  and  the  Bible-reader  cross 
upon  the  stairs.  High  words  are  audible  from  dwelling 
to  dwelling,  and  children  have  a  strange  experience  from 
the  first;  only  a  robust  soul,  you  would  think,  could 
grow  up  in  such  conditions  without  hurt.  And  even  if 
God  tempers  his  dispensations  to  the  young,  and  all  the 
ill  does  not  arise  that  our  apprehensions  may  forecast, 
the  sight  of  such  a  way  of  living  is  disquieting  to  people 
who  are  more  happily  circumstanced.  Social  inequality 
is  nowhere  more  ostentatious  than  at  Edinburgh.  I  have 
mentioned  already  how,  to  the  stroller  along  Princes 
Street,  the  High  Street  callously  exhibits  its  back  garrets. 

294 


OLD   TOWN  — THE   LANDS 

It  is  true  there  is  a  garden  between.  And  although 
nothing  could  be  more  glaring  by  way  of  contrast,  some- 
times the  opposition  is  more  immediate;  sometimes  the 
thing  lies  in  a  nutshell,  and  there  is  not  so  much  as  a 
blade  of  grass  between  the  rich  and  poor.  To  look 
over  the  South  Bridge  and  see  the  Cowgate  below  full 
of  crying  hawkers,  is  to  view  one  rank  of  society  from 
another  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 

One  night  I  went  along  the  Cowgate  after  every  one 
was  a-bed  but  the  policeman,  and  stopped  by  hazard 
before  a  tall  land.  The  moon  touched  upon  its  chim- 
neys, and  shone  blankly  on  the  upper  windows;  there 
was  no  light  anywhere  in  the  great  bulk  of  building; 
but  as  I  stood  there  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  could  hear 
quite  a  body  of  quiet  sounds  from  the  interior;  doubt- 
less there  were  many  clocks  ticking,  and  people  snoring 
on  their  backs.  And  thus,  as  I  fancied,  the  dense  life 
within  made  itself  faintly  audible  in  my  ears,  family  after 
family  contributing  its  quota  to  the  general  hum,  and 
the  whole  pile  beating  in  tune  to  its  time-pieces,  like  a 
great  disordered  heart.  Perhaps  it  was  little  more  than 
a  fancy  altogether,  but  it  was  strangely  impressive  at 
the  time,  and  gave  me  an  imaginative  measure  of  the 
disproportion  between  the  quantity  of  living  flesh  and 
the  trifling  walls  that  separated  and  contained  it. 

There  was  nothing  fanciful,  at  least,  but  every  circum- 
stance of  terror  and  reality,  in  the  fall  of  the  land  in  the 
High  Street.  The  building  had  grown  rotten  to  the 
core;  the  entry  underneath  had  suddenly  closed  up  so 
that  the  scavenger's  barrow  could  not  pass ;  cracks  and 
reverberations  sounded  through  the  house  at  n-ight ;  the 
inhabitants  of  the  huge  old  human  bee-hive  discussed 

295 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

their  peril  when  they  encountered  on  the  stair;  some 
had  even  left  their  dwellings  in  a  panic  of  fear,  and  re- 
turned to  them  again  in  a  fit  of  economy  or  self-respect ; 
when,  in  the  black  hours  of  a  Sunday  morning,  the 
whole  structure  ran  together  with  a  hideous  uproar  and 
tumbled  story  upon  story  to  the  ground.  The  physical 
shock  was  felt  far  and  near ;  and  the  moral  shock  trav- 
elled with  the  morning  milkmaid  into  all  the  suburbs. 
The  church-bells  never  sounded  more  dismally  over 
Edinburgh  than  that  grey  forenoon.  Death  had  made 
a  brave  harvest;  and,  like  Samson,  by  pulling  down  one 
roof  destroyed  many  a  home.  None  who  saw  it  can 
have  forgotten  the  aspect  of  the  gable :  here  it  was  plas- 
tered, there  papered,  according  to  the  rooms ;  here  the 
kettle  still  stood  on  the  hob,  high  overhead ;  and  there 
a  cheap  picture  of  the  Queen  was  pasted  over  the  chim- 
ney. So,  by  this  disaster,  you  had  a  glimpse  into  the 
life  of  thirty  families,  all  suddenly  cut  off  from  the  re- 
volving years.  The  land  had  fallen ;  and  with  the  land 
how  much !  Far  in  the  country,  people  saw  a  gap  in 
the  city  ranks,  and  the  sun  looked  through  between  the 
chimneys  in  an  unwonted  place.  And  all  over  the 
world,  in  London,  in  Canada,  in  New  Zealand,  fancy 
what  a  multitude  of  people  could  exclaim  with  truth: 
** The  house  that  I  was  born  in  fell  last  night! " 


%96 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  PARLIAMENT  CLOSE 

Time  has  wrought  its  changes  most  notably  around 
the  precinct  of  St.  Giles's  Church.  The  church  itself,  if 
it  were  not  for  the  spire,  would  be  unrecognisable;  the 
Krames  are  all  gone,  not  a  shop  is  left  to  shelter  in  its 
buttresses;  and  zealous  magistrates  and  a  misguided 
architect  have  shorn  the  design  of  manhood,  and  left  it 
poor,  naked,  and  pitifully  pretentious.  As  St.  Giles's 
must  have  had  in  former  days  a  rich  and  quaint  appear- 
ance now  forgotten,  so  the  neighbourhood  was  bustling, 
sunless,  and  romantic.  It  was  here  that  the  town  was 
most  overbuilt ;  but  the  overbuilding  has  been  all  rooted 
out,  and  not  only  a  free  fairway  left  along  the  High  Street 
with  an  open  space  on  either  side  of  the  church,  but  a 
great  porthole,  knocked  in  the  main  line  of  the  lands, 
gives  an  outlook  to  the  north  and  the  New  Town. 

There  is  a  silly  story  of  a  subterranean  passage  be- 
tween the  Castle  and  Holyrood,  and  a  bold  Highland 
piper  who  volunteered  to  explore  its  windings.  He 
made  his  entrance  by  the  upper  end,  playing  a  strathspey ; 
the  curious  footed  it  after  him  down  the  street,  follow- 
ing his  descent  by  the  sound  of  the  chanter  from  below; 
until  all  of  a  sudden,  about  the  level  of  St.  Giles's,  the 
music  came  abruptly  to  an  end,  and  the  people  in  the 
street  stood  at  fault  with  hands  uplifted.     Whether  he 

297 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

was  choked  with  gases,  or  perished  in  a  quag,  or  was 
removed  bodily  by  the  Evil  One,  remains  a.  point  of 
doubt ;  but  the  piper  has  never  again  been  seen  or  heard 
of  from  that  day  to  this.  Perhaps  he  wandered  down 
into  the  land  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  and  some  day, 
when  it  is  least  expected,  may  take  a  thought  to  revisit 
the  sunlit  upper  world.  That  will  be  a  strange  mo- 
ment for  the  cabmen  on  the  stance  besides  St.  Giles's, 
when  they  hear  the  drone  of  his  pipes  reascending  from 
the  bowels  of  the  earth  below  their  horses'  feet. 

But  it  is  not  only  pipers  who  have  vanished,  many  a 
solid  bulk  of  masonry  has  been  likewise  spirited  into 
the  air.  Here,  for  example,  is  the  shape  of  a  heart  let 
into  the  causeway.  This  was  the  site  of  the  Tolbooth, 
the  Heart  of  Midlothian,  a  place  old  in  story  and  name- 
father  to  a  noble  book.  The  walls  are  now  down  in 
the  dust;  there  is  no  more  squalor  career  is  for  merry 
debtors,  no  more  cage  for  the  old  acknowledged  prison- 
breaker;  but  the  sun  and  the  wind  play  freely  over  the 
foundations  of  the  jail.  Nor  is  this  the  only  memorial 
that  the  pavement  keeps  of  former  days.  The  ancient 
burying  ground  of  Edinburgh  lay  behind  St.  Giles's 
Church,  running  downhill  to  the  Cowgate  and  covering 
the  site  of  the  present  Parliament  House.  It  has  dis- 
appeared as  utterly  as  the  prison  or  the  Luckenbooths ; 
and  for  those  ignorant  of  its  history,  I  know  only  one 
token  that  remains.  In  the  Parliament  Close,  trodden 
daily  underfoot  by  advocates,  two  letters  and  a  date 
mark  the  resting-place  of  the  man  who  made  Scotland 
over  again  in  his  own  image,  the  indefatigable,  undis- 
suadable  John  Knox.  He  sleeps  within  call  of  the 
church  that  so  often  echoed  to  his  preaching. 


THE  PARLIAMENT  CLO^E 

Hard  by  the  reformer,  a  bandy-legged  and  garlanded 
Charles  Second,  made  of  lead,  bestrides  a  tun-bellied 
charger.  The  King  has  his  back  turned,  and,  as  you 
look,  seems  to  be  trotting  clumsily  away  from  such  a 
dangerous  neighbour.  Often,  for  hours  together,  these 
two  will  be  alone  in  the  Close,  for  it  lies  out  of  the  way 
of  all  but  legal  traffic.  On  one  side  the  south  wall  of 
the  church,  on  the  other  the  arcades  of  the  Parliament 
House,  enclose  this  irregular  bight  of  causeway  and  de- 
scribe their  shadows  on  it  in  the  sun.  At  either  end, 
from  round  St.  Giles's  buttresses,  you  command  a  look 
into  the  High  Street  with  its  motley  passengers;  but  the 
stream  goes  by,  east  and  west,  and  leaves  the  Parlia- 
ment Close  to  Charles  the  Second  and  the  birds.  Once 
in  a  while,  a  patient  crowd  may  be  seen  loitering  there 
all  day,  some  eating  fruit,  some  reading  a  newspaper; 
and  to  judge  by  their  quiet  demeanour,  you  would  think 
they  were  waiting  for  a  distribution  of  soup-tickets. 
The  fact  is  far  otherwise;  within  in  the  Justiciary  Court 
a  man  is  upon  trial  for  his  life,  and  these  are  some  of  the 
curious  for  whom  the  gallery  was  found  too  narrow.  To- 
wards afternoon,  if  the  prisoner  is  unpopular,  there  will 
be  a  round  of  hisses  when  he  is  brought  forth.  Once  in 
a  while,  too,  an  advocate  in  wig  and  gown,  hand  upon 
mouth,  full  of  pregnant  nods,  sweeps  to  and  fro  in  the 
arcade  listening  to  an  agent ;  and  at  certain  regular  hours 
a  whole  tide  of  lawyers  hurries  across  the  space. 

The  Parliament  Close  has  been  the  scene  of  marking 
incidents  in  Scottish  history.  Thus,  when  the  Bishops 
were  ejected  from  the  Convention  in  1688,  ''  all  fourteen 
of  them  gathered  together  with  pale  faces  and  stood  in 
a  cloud  in  the  Parliament  Close : "  poor  episcopal  person- 

299 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

ages  who  were  done  with  fair  weather  for  life !  Some 
of  the  west-country  Societarians  standing  by,  who  would 
have  "  rejoiced  more  than  in  great  sums  "  to  be  at  their 
hanging,  hustled  them  so  rudely  that  they  knocked  their 
heads  together.  It  was  not  magnanimous  behaviour  to 
dethroned  enemies ;  but  one,  at  least,  of  the  Societari- 
ans had  groaned  in  the  bootSj  and  they  had  all  seen  their 
dear  friends  upon  the  scaffold.  Again,  at  the  "  woeful 
Union,"  it  was  here  that  people  crowded  to  escort  their 
favourite  from  the  last  of  Scottish  parliaments:  people 
flushed  with  nationality,  as  Boswell  would  have  said, 
ready  for  riotous  acts,  and  fresh  from  throwing  stones 
at  the  author  of  ''Robinson  Crusoe"  as  he  looked  out 
of  window. 

One  of  the  pious  in  the  seventeenth  century,  going  to 
pass  his  trials  (examinations  as  we  now  say)  for  the 
Scottish  Bar,  beheld  the  Parliament  Close  open  and  had 
a  vision  of  the  mouth  of  Hell.  This,  and  small  wonder, 
was  the  means  of  his  conversion.  Nor  was  the  vision 
unsuitable  to  the  locality;  for  after  an  hospital,  what 
uglier  piece  is  there  in  civilisation  than  a  court  of  law  ? 
Hither  come  envy,  malice,  and  all  uncharitableness  to 
wrestle  it  out  in  public  tourney ;  crimes,  broken  fortunes, 
severed  households,  the  knave  and  his  victim,  gravitate 
to  this  low  building  with  the  arcade.  To  how  many 
has  not  St.  Giles's  bell  told  the  first  hour  after  ruin  ?  1 
think  I  see  them  pause  to  count  the  strokes,  and  wander 
on  again  into  the  moving  High  Street,  stunned  and  sick 
at  heart. 

A  pair  of  swing  doors  gives  admittance  to  a  hall  with 
a  carved  roof,  hung  with  legal  portraits,  adorned  with 
legal  statuary,  lighted  by  windows  of  painted  glass,  and 

300 


THE  PARLIAMENT  CLOSE 

warmed  by  three  vast  fires.  This  is  the  Salle  des  pas 
perdm  of  the  Scottish  Bar.  Here,  by  a  ferocious  cus- 
tom, idle  youths  must  promenade  from  ten  till  two. 
From  end  to  end,  singly  or  in  pairs  or  trios,  the  gowns 
and  wigs  go  back  and  forward.  Through  a  hum  of 
talk  and  footfalls,  the  piping  tones  of  a  Macef  announce 
a  fresh  cause  and  call  upon  the  names  of  those  con- 
cerned. Intelligent  men  have  been  walking  here  daily 
for  ten  or  twenty  years  without  a  rag  of  business  or  a 
shilling  of  reward.  In  process  of  time,  they  may  per- 
haps be  made  the  Sheriff-Substitute  and  Fountain  of  Jus- 
tice at  Lerwick  or  Tobermory.  There  is  nothing  re- 
quired, you  would  say,  but  a  little  patience  and  a  taste 
for  exercise  and  bad  air.  To  breathe  dust  and  bomba- 
zine, to  feed  the  mind  on  cackling  gossip,  to  hear  three 
parts  of  a  case  and  drink  a  glass  of  sherry,  to  long  with 
indescribable  longings  for  the  hour  when  a  man  may  slip 
out  of  his  travesty  and  devote  himself  to  golf  for  the  rest 
of  the  afternoon,  and  to  do  this  day  by  day  and  year 
after  year,  may  seem  so  small  a  thing  to  the  inexperi- 
enced! But  those  who  have  made  the  experiment  are 
of  a  different  way  of  thinking,  and  count  it  the  most  ar- 
duous form  of  idleness. 

More  swing  doors  open  into  pigeon-holes  where 
Judges  of  the  First  Appeal  sit  singly,  and  halls  of  au- 
dience where  the  supreme  Lords  sit  by  three  or  four. 
Here,  you  may  see  Scott's  place  within  the  bar,  where 
he  wrote  many  a  page  of  Waverley  novels  to  the  drone 
of  judicial  proceeding.  You  will  hear  a  good  deal  of 
shrewdness,  and,  as  their  Lordships  do  not  altogether 
disdain  pleasantry,  a  fair  proportion  of  dry  fun.  The 
broadest  of  broad  Scotch  is  now  banished  from  the 

301 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

bench ;  but  the  courts  still  retain  a  certain  national 
flavour.  We  have  a  solemn  enjoyable  way  of  lingering 
on  a  case.  We  treat  law  as  a  fine  art,  and  relish  and 
digest  a  good  distinction.  There  is  no  hurry:  point 
after  point  must  be  rightly  examined  and  reduced  to 
principle;  judge  after  judge  must  utter  forth  his  obiter 
dicta  to  delighted  brethren. 

Besides  the  courts,  there  are  installed  under  the  same 
roof  no  less  than  three  libraries:  two  of  no  mean  order; 
confused  and  semi-subterranean,  full  of  stairs  and  gal- 
leries; where  you  may  see  the  most  studious-looking 
wigs  fishing  out  novels  by  lanthorn  light,  in  the  very 
place  where  the  old  Privy  Council  tortured  Covenanters. 
As  the  Parliament  House  is  built  upon  a  slope,  although 
it  presents  only  one  story  to  the  north,  it  measures  half- 
a-dozen  at  least  upon  the  south ;  and  range  after  range 
of  vaults  extend  below  the  libraries.  Few  places  are 
more  characteristic  of  this  hilly  capital.  You  descend 
one  stone  stair  after  another,  and  wander,  by  the  flicker 
of  a  match,  in  a  labyrinth  of  stone  cellars.  Now,  you 
pass  below  the  Outer  Hall  and  hear  overhead,  brisk  but 
ghostly,  the  interminable  pattering  of  legal  feet.  Now, 
you  come  upon  a  strong  door  with  a  wicket:  on  the 
other  side  are  the  cells  of  the  police  office  and  the  trap- 
stair  that  gives  admittance  to  the  dock  in  the  Justiciary 
Court.  Many  a  foot  that  has  gone  up  there  lightly  enough, 
has  been  dead-heavy  in  the  descent.  Many  a  man's  life 
has  been  argued  away  from  him  during  long  hours  in 
the  court  above.  But  just  now  that  tragic  stage  is  empty 
and  silent  like  a  church  on  a  week-day,  with  the  bench 
all  sheeted  up  and  nothing  moving  but  the  sunbeams  on 
the  wall.     A  little  farther  and  you  strike  upon  a  room, 

302 


THE   PARLIAMENT   CLOSE 

not  empty  like  the  rest,  but  crowded  with  productions 
from  bygone  criminal  cases:  a  grim  lumber:  lethal  wea- 
pons, poisoned  organs  in  a  jar,  a  door  with  a  shot  hole 
through  the  panel,  behind  which  a  man  fell  dead.  I 
cannot  fancy  why  they  should  preserve  them,  unless  it 
were  against  the  Judgment  Day.  At  length,  as  you  con- 
tinue to  descend,  you  see  a  peep  of  yellow  gaslight  and 
hear  a  jostling,  whispering  noise  ahead;  next  moment 
you  turn  a  corner,  and  there,  in  a  whitewashed  passage, 
is  a  machinery  belt  industriously  turning  on  its  wheels. 
You  would  think  the  engine  had  grown  there  of  its  own 
accord,  like  a  cellar  fungus,  and  would  soon  spin  itself 
out  and  fill  the  vaults  from  end  to  end  with  its  mysteri- 
ous labours.  In  truth,  it  is  only  some  gear  of  the  steam 
ventilator;  and  you  will  find  the  engineers  at  hand,  and 
may  step  out  of  their  door  into  the  sunlight.  For  all 
this  while,  you  have  not  been  descending  towards  the 
earth's  centre,  but  only  to  the  bottom  of  the  hill  and  the 
foundations  of  the  Parliament  House;  low  down,  to  be 
sure,  but  still  under  the  open  heaven  and  in  a  field  of 
grass.  The  daylight  shines  garishly  on  the  back  win- 
dows of  the  Irish  quarter  ;  on  broken  shutters,  wry 
gables,  old  palsied  houses  on  the  brink  of  ruin,  a  crum- 
bling human  pig-sty  fit  for  human  pigs.  There  are  few 
signs  of  life,  besides  a  scanty  washing  or  a  face  at  a  win- 
dow: the  dwellers  are  abroad,  but  they  will  return  at 
night  and  stagger  to  their  pallets. 


303 


CHAPTER  IV 

LEGENDS 

The  character  of  a  place  is  often  most  perfectly  ex- 
pressed in  its  associations.  An  event  strikes  root  and 
grows  into  a  legend,  when  it  has  happened  amongst 
congenial  surroundings.  Ugly  actions,  above  all  in  ugly 
places,  have  the  true  romantic  quality,  and  become  an 
undying  property  of  their  scene.  To  a  man  like  Scott, 
the  different  appearances  of  nature  seemed  each  to  con- 
tain its  own  legend  ready  made,  which  it  was  his  to  call 
forth :  in  such  or  such  a  place,  only  such  or  such  events 
ought  with  propriety  to  happen ;  and  in  this  spirit  he 
made  the  Lady  of  the  Lake  for  Ben  Venue,  the  Heart  of 
Midlothian  for  Edinburgh,  and  the  Pirate,  so  indiffer- 
ently written  but  so  romantically  conceived,  for  the  deso- 
late islands  and  roaring  tideways  of  the  North.  The  com- 
mon run  of  mankind  have,  from  generation  to  genera- 
tion, an  instinct  almost  as  delicate  as  that  of  Scott ;  but 
where  he  created  new  things,  they  only  forget  what  is 
unsuitable  among  the  old ;  and  by  survival  of  the  fittest, 
a  body  of  tradition  becomes  a  work  of  art.  So,  in  the 
low  dens  and  high-flying  garrets  of  Edinburgh,  people 
may  go  back  upon  dark  passages  in  the  town's  adven- 
tures, and  chill  their  marrow  with  winter's  tales  about 
the  fire ;  tales  that  are  singularly  apposite  and  character- 

304 


LEGENDS 

istic,  not  only  of  the  old  life,  but  of  the  very  constitu- 
tion of  built  nature  in  that  part,  and  singularly  well 
qualified  to  add  horror  to  horror,  when  the  wind  pipes 
around  the  tall  lands,  and  hoots  adown  arched  passages, 
and  the  far-spread  wilderness  of  city  lamps  keeps  qua- 
vering and  flaring  in  the  gusts. 

Here,  it  is  the  tale  of  Begbie  the  bank-porter,  stricken 
to  the  heart  at  a  blow  and  left  in  his  blood  within  a  step 
or  two  of  the  crowded  High  Street.  There,  people  hush 
their  voices  over  Burke  and  Hare;  over  drugs  and  vio- 
lated graves,  and  the  resurrection-men  smothering  their 
victims  with  their  knees.  Here,  again,  the  fame  of 
Deacon  Brodie  is  kept  piously  fresh.  A  great  man  in 
his  day  was  the  Deacon;  well  seen  in  good  society, 
crafty  with  his  hands  as  a  cabinet-maker,  and  one  who 
could  sing  a  song  with  taste.  Many  a  citizen  was  proud 
to  welcome  the  Deacon  to  supper,  and  dismissed  him 
with  regret  at  a  timeous  hour,  who  would  have  been 
vastly  disconcerted  had  he  known  how  soon,  and  in 
what  guise,  his  visitor  returned.  Many  stories  are  told 
of  this  redoubtable  Edinburgh  burglar,  but  the  one  I 
have  in  my  mind  most  vividly  gives  the  key  of  all  the 
rest.  A  friend  of  Brodie's,  nested  some  way  towards 
heaven  in  one  of  these  great  lands,  had  told  him  of  a 
projected  visit  to  the  country,  and  afterwards  detained 
by  some  affairs,  put  it  off  and  stayed  the  night  in  town. 
The  good  man  had  lain  some  time  awake ;  it  was  far  on 
in  the  small  hours  by  the  Tron  bell ;  when  suddenly 
there  came  a  creak,  a  jar,  a  faint  light.  Softly  he  clam- 
bered out  of  bed  and  up  to  a  false  window  which  looked 
upon  another  room,  and  there,  by  the  glimmer  of  a 
thieves'  lantern,  was  his  good  friend  the  Deacon  in  a 

305 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

mask.  It  is  characteristic  of  the  town  and  the  town's 
manners  that  this  little  episode  should  have  been  quietly 
tided  over,  and  quite  a  good  time  elapsed  before  a  great 
robbery,  an  escape,  a  Bow  Street  runner,  a  cock-fight, 
an  apprehension  in  a  cupboard  in  Amsterdam,  and  a  last 
step  into  the  air  off  his  own  greatly-improved  gallows 
drop,  brought  the  career  of  Deacon  William  Brodie  to 
an  end.  But  still,  by  the  mind's  eye,  he  may  be  seen,  a 
man  harassed  below  a  mountain  of  duplicity,  slinking 
from  a  magistrate's  supper-room  to  a  thieves'  ken,  and 
pickeering  among  the  closes  by  the  flicker  of  a  dark 
lamp. 

Or  where  the  Deacon  is  out  of  favour,  perhaps  some 
memory  lingers  of  the  great  plagues,  and  of  fatal  houses 
still  unsafe  to  enter  within  the  memory  of  man.  For  in 
time  of  pestilence  the  discipline  had  been  sharp  and  sud- 
den, and  what  we  now  call  "stamping  out  contagion" 
was  carried  on  with  deadly  rigour.  The  officials,  in 
their  gowns  of  grey,  with  a  white  St.  Andrew's  cross 
on  back  and  breast,  and  a  white  cloth  carried  before 
them  on  a  staff,  perambulated  the  city,  adding  the  terror 
of  man's  justice  to  the  fear  of  God's  visitation.  The 
dead  they  buried  on  the  Borough  Muir;  the  living  who 
had  concealed  the  sickness  were  drowned,  if  they  were 
women,  in  the  Quarry  Holes,  and  if  they  were  men,  were 
hanged  and  gibbeted  at  their  own  doors;  and  wherever 
the  evil  had  passed,  furniture  was  destroyed  and  houses 
closed.  And  the  most  bogeyish  part  of  the  story  is 
about  such  houses.  Two  generations  back  they  still 
stood  dark  and  empty;  people  avoided  them  as  they 
passed  by;  the  boldest  schoolboy  only  shouted  through 
the  keyhole  and  made  off;  for  within,  it  was  supposed, 

•'06 


LEGENDS 

the  plague  lay  ambushed  like  a  basilisk,  ready  to  flow 
forth  and  spread  blain  and  pustule  through  the  city. 
What  a  terrible  next-door  neighbour  for  superstitious 
citizens!  A  rat  scampering  within  would  send  a  shud- 
der through  the  stoutest  heart.  Here,  if  you  like,  was 
a  sanitary  parable,  addressed  by  our  uncleanly  forefathers 
to  their  own  neglect. 

And  then  we  have  Major  Weir;  for  although  even  his 
house  is  now  demolished,  old  Edinburgh  cannot  clear 
herself  of  his  unholy  memory.  He  and  his  sister  lived  to- 
gether in  an  odour  of  sour  piety.  She  was  a  marvellous 
spinster;  he  had  a  rare  gift  of  supplication,  and  was 
known  among  devout  admirers  by  the  name  of  An- 
gelical Thomas.  "He  was  a  tall,  black  man,  and 
ordinarily  looked  down  to  the  ground;  a  grim  coun- 
tenance, and  a  big  nose.  His  garb  was  still  a  cloak, 
and  somewhat  dark,  and  he  never  went  without  his 
staff."  How  it  came  about  that  Angelical  Thomas  was 
burned  in  company  with  his  staff,  and  his  sister  in 
gentler  manner  hanged,  and  whether  these  two  were 
simply  religious  maniacs  of  the  more  furious  order,  or 
had  real  as  well  as  imaginary  sins  upon  their  old-world 
shoulders,  are  points  happily  beyond  the  reach  of  our 
intention.  At  least,  it  is  suitable  enough  that  out  of 
this  superstitious  city  some  such  example  should  have 
been  put  forth:  the  outcome  and  fine  flower  of  dark 
and  vehement  religion.  And  at  least  the  facts  struck 
the  public  fancy  and  brought  forth  a  remarkable  family 
of  myths.  It  would  appear  that  the  Major's  staff  went 
upon  his  errands,  and  even  ran  before  him  with  a 
lantern  on  dark  nights.  Gigantic  females,  ' '  stentoriously 
laughing  and  gaping  with  tehees  of  laughter"  at  un- 

307 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

seasonable  hours  of  night  and  morning,  haunted  the 
purlieus  of  his  abode.  His  house  fell  under  such  a  load 
of  infamy  that  no  one  dared  to  sleep  in  it,  until  muni- 
cipal improvement  levelled  the  structure  with  the  ground. 
And  my  father  has  often  been  told  in  the  nursery  how 
the  devil's  coach,  drawn  by  six  coal-black  horses  with 
fiery  eyes,  would  drive  at  night  into  the  West  Bow, 
and  belated  people  might  see  the  dead  Major  through 
the  glasses. 

Another  legend  is  that  of  the  two  maiden  sisters.  A 
legend  I  am  afraid  it  may  be,  in  the  most  discreditable 
meaning  of  the  term;  or  perhaps  something  worse — a 
mere  yesterday's  fiction.  But  it  is  a  story  of  some 
vitality,  and  is  worthy  of  a  place  in  the  Edinburgh  cal- 
endar. This  pair  inhabited  a  single  room;  from  the 
facts,  it  must  have  been  double-bedded;  and  it  may 
have  been  of  some  dimensions :  but  when  all  is  said,  it 
was  a  single  room.  Here  our  two  spinsters  fell  out — 
on  some  point  of  controversial  divinity  belike :  but  fell 
out  so  bitterly  that  there  was  never  a  word  spoken  be- 
tween them,  black  or  white,  from  that  day  forward. 
You  would  have  thought  they  would  separate :  but  no ; 
whether  from  lack  of  means,  or  the  Scottish  fear  of 
scandal,  they  continued  to  keep  house  together  where 
they  were.  A  chalk  line  drawn  upon  the  floor  separated 
their  two  domains;  it  bisected  the  doorway  and  the 
fireplace,  so  that  each  could  go  out  and  in,  and  do  her 
cooking,  without  violating  the  territory  of  the  other. 
So,  for  years,  they  coexisted  in  a  hateful  silence ;  their 
meals,  their  ablutions,  their  friendly  visitors,  exposed  to 
an  unfriendly  scrutiny ;  and  at  night,  in  the  dark  watches, 
each  could  hear  the  breathing  of  her  enemy.    Never  did 

308 


LEGENDS 

four  walls  look  down  upon  an  uglier  spectacle  than 
these  sisters  rivalling  in  unsisterliness.  Here  is  a  canvas 
for  Hawthorne  to  have  turned  into  a  cabinet  picture  — 
he  had  a  Puritanic  vein,  which  would  have  fitted  him 
to  treat  this  Puritanic  horror;  he  could  have  shown 
them  to  us  in  their  sicknesses  and  at  their  hideous  twin 
devotions,  thumbing  a  pair  of  great  Bibles,  or  praying 
aloud  for  each  other's  penitence  with  marrowy  em- 
phasis; now  each,  with  kilted  petticoat,  at  her  own 
corner  of  the  fire  on  some  tempestuous  evening;  now 
sitting  each  at  her  window,  looking  out  upon  the  sum- 
mer landscape  sloping  far  below  them  towards  the  firth, 
and  the  field-paths  where  they  had  wandered  hand  in 
hand;  or,  as  age  and  infirmity  grew  upon  them  and 
prolonged  their  toilettes,  and  their  hands  began  to  trem- 
ble and  their  heads  to  nod  involuntarily,  growing  only 
the  more  steeled  in  enmity  with  years ;  until  one  fine 
day,  at  a  word,  a  look,  a  visit,  or  the  approach  of 
death,  their  hearts  would  melt  and  the  chalk  boundary 
be  overstepped  for  ever. 

Alas !  to  those  who  know  the  ecclesiastical  history  of 
the  race  —  the  most  perverse  and  melancholy  in  man's 
annals  —  this  will  seem  only  a  figure  of  much  that  is 
typical  of  Scotland  and  her  high-seated  capital  above  the 
Forth  —  a  figure  so  grimly  realistic  that  it  may  pass  with 
strangers  for  a  caricature.  We  are  wonderful  patient 
haters  for  conscience'  sake  up  here  in  the  North.  I  spoke, 
in  the  first  of  these  papers,  of  the  Parliaments  of  the 
Established  and  Free  Churches,  and  how  they  can  hear 
each  other  singing  psalms  across  the  street.  There  is 
but  a  street  between  them  in  space,  but  a  shadow  be- 
tween them  in  principle;   and  yet  there  they  sit,  en- 

309 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

chanted,  and  in  damnatory  accents  pray  for  each  other's 
growth  in  grace.  It  would  be  well  if  there  were  no 
more  than  two ;  but  the  sects  in  Scotland  form  a  large 
family  of  sisters,  and  the  chalk  lines  are  thickly  drawn, 
and  run  through  the  midst  of  many  private  homes. 
Edinburgh  is  a  city  of  churches,  as  though  it  were  a  place 
of  pilgrimage.  You  will  see  four  within  a  stone-cast  at 
the  head  of  the  West  Bow.  Some  are  crowded  to  the 
doors;  some  are  empty  like  monuments;  and  yet  you 
will  ever  find  new  ones  in  the  building.  Hence  that 
surprising  clamour  of  church  bells  that  suddenly  breaks 
out  upon  the  Sabbath  morning,  from  Trinity  and  the 
sea-skirts  to  Morningside  on  the  borders  of  the  hills. 
I  have  heard  the  chimes  of  Oxford  playing  their  sym- 
phony in  a  golden  autumn  morning,  and  beautiful  it  was 
to  hear.  But  in  Edinburgh  all  manner  of  loud  bells 
join,  or  rather  disjoin,  in  one  swelling,  brutal  babblement 
of  noise.  Now  one  overtakes  another,  and  now  lags 
behind  it;  now  five  or  six  all  strike  on  the  pained  tym- 
panum at  the  same  punctual  instant  of  time,  and  make 
together  a  dismal  chord  of  discord;  and  now  for  a 
second  all  seem  to  have  conspired  to  hold  their  peace. 
Indeed,  there  are  not  many  uproars  in  this  world  more 
dismal  than  that  of  the  Sabbath  bells  in  Edinburgh :  a 
harsh  ecclesiastical  tocsin ;  the  outcry  of  incongruous 
orthodoxies,  calling  on  every  separate  conventicler  to  put 
up  a  protest,  each  in  his  own  synagogue,  against  ''right- 
hand  extremes  and  left-hand  defections."  And  surely 
there  are  few  worse  extremes  than  this  extremity  of  zeal ; 
and  few  more  deplorable  defections  than  this  disloyalty 
to  Christian  love.  Shakespeare  wrote  a  comedy  of 
'  *  Much  Ado  about  Nothing. "    The  Scottish  nation  made 

310 


LEGENDS 

a  fantastic  tragedy  on  the  same  subject.  And  it  is  for  the 
success  of  this  remarkable  piece  that  these  bells  are 
sounded  every  Sabbath  morning  on  the  hills  above  the 
Forth.  How  many  of  them  might  rest  silent  in  the 
steeple,  how  many  of  these  ugly  churches  might  be  de- 
molished and  turned  once  more  into  useful  building 
material,  if  people  who  think  almost  exactly  the  same 
thoughts  about  religion  would  condescend  to  worship 
God  under  the  same  roof!  But  there  are  the  chalk  lines. 
And  which  is  to  pocket  pride,  and  speak  the  foremost 
word? 


311 


CHAPTER  V 

GREYFRIARS 

It  was  Queen  Mary  who  threw  open  the  gardens  of 
the  Grey  Friars :  a  new  and  semi-rural  cemetery  in  those 
days,  although  it  has  grown  an  antiquity  in  its  turn  and 
been  superseded  by  half-a-dozen  others.  The  Friars 
must  have  had  a  pleasant  time  on  summer  evenings; 
for  their  gardens  were  situated  to  a  wish,  with  the  tall 
castle  and  the  tallest  of  the  castle  crags  in  front.  Even 
now,  it  is  one  of  our  famous  Edinburgh  points  of  view ; 
and  strangers  are  led  thither  to  see,  by  yet  another  in- 
stance, how  strangely  the  city  lies  upon  her  hills.  The 
enclosure  is  of  an  irregular  shape ;  the  double  church  of 
Old  and  New  Greyfriars  stands  on  the  level  at  the  top  \ 
a  few  thorns  are  dotted  here  and  there,  and  the  ground 
falls  by  terrace  and  steep  slope  towards  the  north.  The 
open  shows  many  slabs  and  table  tombstones ;  and  all 
round  the  margin,  the  place  is  girt  by  an  array  of  aristo- 
cratic mausoleums  appallingly  adorned. 

Setting  aside  the  tombs  of  Roubilliac,  which  belong  to 
the  heroic  order  of  graveyard  art,  we  Scotch  stand,  to 
my  fancy,  highest  among  nations  in  the  matter  of  grimly 
illustrating  death.  We  seem  to  love  for  their  own  sake 
the  emblems  of  time  and  the  great  change;  and  even 
around  country  churches  you  will  find  a  wonderful  ex- 

312 


GREYFRIARS 

hibition  of  skulls,  and  crossbones,  and  noseless  angels, 
and  trumpets  pealing  for  the  Judgment  Day.  Every 
mason  was  a  pedestrian  Holbein :  he  had  a  deep  con- 
sciousness of  death,  and  loved  to  put  its  terrors  pithily 
before  the  churchyard  loiterer;  he  was  brimful  of  rough 
hints  upon  mortality,  and  any  dead  farmer  was  seized 
upon  to  be  a  text.  The  classical  examples  of  this  art  are 
in  Greyfriars.  In  their  time,  these  were  doubtless  costly 
monuments,  and  reckoned  of  a  very  elegant  proportion 
by  contemporaries;  and  now,  when  the  elegance  is  not 
so  apparent,  the  significance  remains.  You  may  per- 
haps look  with  a  smile  on  the  profusion  of  Latin  mottoes 
—  some  crawling  endwise  up  the  shaft  of  a  pillar,  some 
issuing  on  a  scroll  from  angels'  trumpets  —  on  the  em- 
blematic horrors,  the  figures  rising  headless  from  the 
grave,  and  all  the  traditional  ingenuities  in  which  it 
pleased  our  fathers  to  set  forth  their  sorrow  for  the  dead 
and  their  sense  of  earthly  mutability.  But  it  is  not  a 
hearty  sort  of  mirth.  Each  ornament  may  have  been 
executed  by  the  merriest  apprentice,  whistling  as  he  plied 
the  mallet;  but  the  original  meaning  of  each,  and  the 
combined  effect  of  so  many  of  them  in  this  quiet  en- 
closure, is  serious  to  the  point  of  melancholy. 

Round  a  great  part  of  the  circuit,  houses  of  a  low  class 
present  their  backs  to  the  churchyard.  Only  a  few 
inches  separate  the  living  from  the  dead.  Here,  a  win- 
dow is  partly  blocked  up  by  the  pediment  of  a  tomb ; 
there,  where  the  street  falls  far  below  the  level  of  the 
graves,  a  chimney  has  been  trained  up  the  back  of  a 
monument,  and  a  red  pot  looks  vulgarly  over  from  be- 
hind. A  damp  smell  of  the  graveyard  finds  its  way  into 
houses  where  workmen  sit  at  meat.     Domestic  life  on 

3J3 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

a  small  scale  goes  forward  visibly  at  the  windows.  The 
very  solitude  and  stillness  of  the  enclosure,  which  lies 
apart  from  the  town's  traffic,  serves  to  accentuate  the 
contrast.  As  you  walk  upon  the  graves,  you  see  chil- 
dren scattering  crumbs  to  feed  the  sparrows ;  you  hear 
people  singing  or  washing  dishes,  or  the  sound  of  tears 
and  castigation ;  the  linen  on  a  clothespole  flaps  against 
funereal  sculpture;  or  perhaps  the  cat  slips  over  the  lintel 
and  descends  on  a  memorial  urn.  And  as  there  is  nothing 
else  astir,  these  incongruous  sights  and  noises  take  hold 
on  the  attention  and  exaggerate  the  sadness  of  the  place. 

Greyfriars  is  continually  overrun  by  cats.  I  have  seen 
one  afternoon,  as  many  as  thirteen  of  them  seated  on 
the  grass  beside  old  Milne,  the  Master  Builder,  all  sleek 
and  fat,  and  complacently  blinking,  as  if  they  had  fed 
upon  strange  meats.  Old  Milne  was  chaunting  with 
the  saints,  as  we  may  hope,  and  cared  little  for  the  com- 
pany about  his  grave ;  but  I  confess  the  spectacle  had  an 
ugly  side  for  me ;  and  I  was  glad  to  step  forward  and 
raise  my  eyes  to  where  the  Castle  and  the  roofs  of  the 
Old  Town,  and  the  spire  of  the  Assembly  Hall,  stood, 
deployed  against  the  sky  with  the  colourless  precision 
of  engraving.  An  open  outlook  is  to  be  desired  from  a 
churchyard,  and  a  sight  of  the  sky  and  some  of  the 
world's  beauty  relieves  a  mind  from  morbid  thoughts. 

I  shall  never  forget  one  visit.  It  was  a  grey,  dropping 
day ;  the  grass  was  strung  with  raindrops ;  and  the  peo- 
ple in  the  houses  kept  hanging  out  their  shirts  and  pet- 
ticoats and  angrily  taking  them  in  again,  as  the  weather 
turned  from  wet  to  fair  and  back  again.  A  grave-dig- 
ger, and  a  friend  of  his,  a  gardener  from  the  country, 
accompanied  me  into  one  after  another  of  the  cells  and 

314 


GREYFRIARS 

little  courtyards  in  which  it  gratified  the  wealthy  of  old 
days  to  enclose  their  old  bones  from  neighbourhood. 
In  one,  under  a  sort  of  shrine,  we  found  a  forlorn  human 
effigy,  very  realistically  executed  down  to  the  detail  of 
his  ribbed  stockings,  and  holding  in  his  hand  a  ticket 
with  the  date  of  his  demise.  He  looked  most  pitiful  and 
ridiculous,  shut  up  by  himself  in  his  aristocratic  pre- 
cinct, like  a  bad  old  boy  or  an  inferior  forgotten  deity 
under  a  new  dispensation ;  the  burdocks  grew  familiarly 
about  his  feet,  the  rain  dripped  all  round  him ;  and  the 
world  maintained  the  most  entire  indifference  as  to  who 
he  was  or  whither  he  had  gone.  In  another,  a  vaulted 
tomb,  handsome  externally  but  horrible  inside  with 
damp  and  cobwebs,  there  were  three  mounds  of  black 
earth  and  an  uncovered  thigh  bone.  This  was  the  place 
of  interment,  it  appeared,  of  a  family  with  whom  the 
gardener  had  been  long  in  service.  He  was  among  old 
acquaintances.     "This'll  be  Miss  Marg'et's,"  said  he, 

giving  the  bone  a  friendly  kick.     "The  auld ! "     1 

have  always  an  uncomfortable  feeling  in  a  graveyard, 
at  sight  of  so  many  tombs  to  perpetuate  memories  best 
forgotten;  but  I  never  had  the  impression  so  strongly 
as  that  day.  People  had  been  at  some  expense  in  both 
these  cases :  to  provoke  a  melancholy  feeling  of  derision 
in  the  one,  and  an  insulting  epithet  in  the  other.  The 
proper  inscription  for  the  most  part  of  mankind,  1  began 
to  think,  is  the  cynical  jeer,  eras  tibi.  That,  if  anything, 
will  stop  the  mouth  of  a  carper;  since  it  both  admits  the 
worst  and  carries  the  war  triumphantly  into  the  enemy's 
camp. 

Greyfriars  is  a  place  of  many  associations.     There  was 
one  window  in  a  house  at  the  lower  end,  now  demol- 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

ished,  which  was  pointed  out  to  me  by  the  gravedigger 
as  a  spot  of  legendary  interest.  Burke,  the  resurrection 
man,  infamous  for  so  many  murders  at  five  shillings 
a  head,  used  to  sit  thereat,  with  pipe  and  nightcap,  to 
watch  burials  going  forward  on  the  green.  In  a  tomb 
higher  up,  which  must  then  have  been  but  newly  fin- 
ished, John  Knox,  according  to  the  same  informant,  had 
taken  refuge  in  a  turmoil  of  the  Reformation.  Behind 
the  church  is  the  haunted  mausoleum  of  Sir  George 
Mackenzie:  Bloody  Mackenzie,  Lord  Advocate  in  the 
Covenanting  troubles  and  author  of  some  pleasing  senti- 
ments on  toleration.  Here,  in  the  last  century,  an  old 
Heriot's  Hospital  boy  once  harboured  from  the  pursuit 
of  the  police.  The  Hospital  is  next  door  to  Greyfriars 
—  a  courtly  building  among  lawns,  where,  on  Founder's 
Day,  you  may  see  a  multitude  of  children  playing  Kiss- 
in-the-Ring  and  Round  the  Mulberry-bush.  Thus, 
when  the  fugitive  had  managed  to  conceal  himself  in 
the  tomb,  his  old  schoolmates  had  a  hundred  opportu- 
nities to  bring  him  food ;  and  there  he  lay  in  safety  till  a 
ship  was  found  to  smuggle  him  abroad.  But  his  must 
have  been  indeed  a  heart  of  brass,  to  lie  all  day  and  night 
alone  with  the  dead  persecutor;  and  other  lads  were  far 
from  emulating  him  in  courage.  When  a  man's  soul  is 
certainly  in  hell,  his  body  will  scarce  lie  quiet  in  a  tomb 
however  costly ;  some  time  or  other  the  door  must  open, 
and  the  reprobate  come  forth  in  the  abhorred  garments 
of  the  grave.  It  was  thought  a  high  piece  of  prowess 
to  knock  at  the  Lord  Advocate's  mausoleum  and  chal- 
lenge him  to  appear.  '*  Bluidy  Mackingie,  come  oot  if 
ye  dar'  I "  sang  the  foolhardy  urchins.  But  Sir  George 
had  other  affairs  on  hand ;  and  the  author  of  an  essay  on 

316 


GREYFRIARS 

toleration  continues  to  sleep  peacefully  among  the  many 
whom  he  so  intolerantly  helped  to  slay. 

For  this  infelix  campus^  as  it  is  dubbed  in  one  of  its 
own  inscriptions  —  an  inscription  over  which  Dr.  John- 
son passed  a  critical  eye  —  is  in  many  ways  sacred  to 
the  memory  of  the  men  whom  Mackenzie  persecuted. 
It  was  here,  on  the  flat  tombstones,  that  the  Covenant 
was  signed  by  an  enthusiastic  people.  In  the  'png  arm 
of  the  churchyard  that  extends  to  Lauriston,  the  pris- 
oners from  Both  well  Bridge  —  fed  on  bread  and  water 
and  guarded,  life  for  life,  by  vigilant  marksmen  —  lay 
five  months  looking  for  the  scaffold  or  the  plantations. 
And  while  the  good  work  was  going  forward  in  the 
Grassmarket,  idlers  in  Greyfriars  might  have  heard  the 
throb  of  the  military  drums  that  drowned  the  voices  of 
the  martyrs.  Nor  is  this  all:  for  down  in  the  corner 
farthest  from  Sir  George,  there  stands  a  monument  de- 
dicated, in  uncouth  Covenanting  verse,  to  all  who  lost 
their  lives  in  that  contention.  There  is  no  moorsman 
shot  in  a  snow  shower  beside  Irongray  or  Co'monell; 
there  is  not  one  of  the  two  hundred  who  were  drowned 
off  the  Orkneys ;  nor  so  much  as  a  poor,  over-driven. 
Covenanting  slave  in  the  American  plantations;  but  can 
lay  claim  to  a  share  in  that  memorial  and,  if  such  things 
interest  just  men  among  the  shades,  can  boast  he  has  a 
monument  on  earth  as  well  as  Julius  Caesar  or  the  Pha- 
raohs. Where  they  may  all  lie,  I  know  not.  Far-scat- 
tered bones,  indeed  I  But  if  the  reader  cares  to  learn 
how  some  of  them  —  or  some  part  of  some  of  them  — 
found  their  way  at  length  to  such  honourable  sepulture, 
let  him  listen  to  the  words  of  one  who  was  their  com- 
rade in  life  and  their  apologist  when  they  were  dead. 

317 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

Some  of  the  insane  controversial  matter  I  omit,  as  well 
as  some  digressions,  but  leave  the  rest  in  Patrick  Walker's 
language  and  orthography :  — 


"The  never  to  be  forgotten  Mr.  James  Renwick  told  me,  that  he  was 
Witness  to  their  Public  Murder  at  the  Gallowlee,  between  Leith  and 
Edinburgh,  when  he  saw  the  Hangman  hash  and  hagg  off  all  their 
Five  Head^  with  Patrick  Foreman's  Right  Hand:  Their  Bodies  were 
all  burjri  at  the  Gallows  Foot;  their  Heads,  with  Patrick's  Hand, 
were  brc  jj^^it  and  put  upon  five  Pikes  on  the  Pleasaunce-Port.  .  .  . 
Mr.  Renwick  told  me  also  that  it  was  the  first  public  Action  that  his 
Hand  was  at,  to  conveen  Friends,  and  lift  their  murthered  Bodies,  and 
carried  them  to  the  West  Churchyard  of  Edinburgh," —  not  Greyfriars, 
this  time, — "  and  buried  them  there.  Then  they  came  about  the  City 
....  and  took  down  these  Five  Heads  and  that  Hand;  and  Day  be- 
ing come,  they  went  quickly  up  the  Pleasaunce;  and  when  they  came 
to  Lauristoun  Yards,  upon  the  South-side  of  the  City,  they  durst  not 
venture,  being  so  light,  to  go  and  bury  their  Heads  with  their  Bodies, 
which  they  designed;  it  being  present  Death,  if  any  of  them  had  been 
found.  Alexander  Tweedie,  a  Friend,  being  with  them,  who  at  that 
Time  was  Gardner  in  these  Yards,  concluded  to  bury  them  in  his  Yard, 
being  in  a  Box  (wrapped  in  Linen),  where  they  lay  45  Years  except  3 
Days,  being  executed  upon  the  loth  of  October  1681,  and  found  the  7th 
Pay  of  October  1 726.  That  Piece  of  Ground  lay  for  some  Years  un- 
laboured; and  trenching  it,  the  Gardner  found  them,  which  affrighted 
him;  the  Box  was  consumed.  Mr.  Schaw,  the  Owner  of  these  Yards, 
caused  lift  them,  and  lay  them  upon  a  Table  in  his  Summer-house: 
Mr.  Schaw's  mother  was  so  kind,  as  to  cut  out  a  Linen-cloth,  and 
cover  them.  They  lay  Twelve  Days  there,  where  all  had  Access  to 
see  them.  Alexander  Tweedie,  the  foresaid  Gardner,  said,  when  dy- 
ing, There  was  a  Treasure  hid  in  his  Yard,  but  neither  Gold  nor  Silver. 
Daniel  Tweedie,  his  Son,  came  along  with  me  to  that  Yard,  and  told 
me  that  his  Father  planted  a  white  Rose-bush  above  them,  and  farther 
down  the  Yard  a  red  Rose-bush,  which  were  more  fruitful  than  any 
other  Bush  in  the  Yard.  .  .  .  Many  came  " — to  see  the  heads — "out 
of  Curiosity;  yet  I  rejoiced  to  see  so  many  concerned  grave  Men  and 
Women  favouring  the  Dust  of  our  Martyrs.     There  were  Six  of  us  con- 

318 


GREYFRIARS 

eluded  to  bury  them  upon  the  Nineteenth  Day  of  October  1 726,  and 
every  One  of  us  to  acquaint  Friends  of  the  Day  and  Hour,  being  IVed- 
nesdajy,  the  Day  of  the  Week  on  which  most  of  them  were  executed, 
and  at  4  of  the  Clock  at  Night,  being  the  Hour  that  most  of  them  went 
to  their  resting  Graves.  We  caused  make  a  compleat  Coffm  for  them 
in  Black,  with  four  Yards  of  fine  Linen,  the  way  that  our  Martyrs 
Corps  were  managed.  .  .  .  Accordingly  we  kept  the  aforesaid  Day 
and  Hour,  and  doubled  the  Linen,  and  laid  the  Half  of  it  below  them, 
their  nether  Jaws  being  parted  from  their  Heads;  but  being  young  Men, 
their  Teeth  remained.  All  were  Witness  to  the  Holes  in  each  of  their 
Heads,  which  the  Hangman  broke  with  his  Hammer;  and  according  to 
the  Bigness  of  their  Sculls,  we  laid  the  Jaws  to  them,  and  drew  the 
other  Half  of  the  Linen  above  them,  and  stufft  the  Coffm  with  Shav- 
ings. Some  prest  hard  to  go  thorow  the  chief  Parts  of  the  City  as  was 
done  at  the  Revolution;  but  this  we  refused,  considering  that  it  looked 
airy  and  frothy,  to  make  such  Show  of  them,  and  inconsistent  with  the 
solid  serious  Observing  of  such  an  affecting,  surprizing  unheard-of  Dis- 
pensation: But  took  the  ordinary  Way  of  other  Burials  from  that  Place, 
to  wit,  we  went  east  the  Back  of  the  Wall,  and  in  at  Bristo-Port,  and 
down  the  Way  to  the  Head  of  the  Cowgate,  and  turned  up  to  the 
Church-yard,  where  they  were  interred  closs  to  the  Martyrs  Tomb, 
with  the  greatest  Multitude  of  People  Old  and  Young,  Men  and 
Women,  Ministers  and  others,  that  ever  I  saw  together." 

And  SO  there  they  were  at  last,  in  "their  resting 
graves."  So  long  as  men  do  their  duty,  even  if  it  be 
greatly  in  a  misapprehension,  they  will  be  leading  pat- 
tern lives ;  and  whether  or  not  they  come  to  lie  beside 
a  martyrs'  monument,  we  may  be  sure  they  will  find  a 
safe  haven  somewhere  in  the  providence  of  God.  It  is 
not  well  to  think  of  death,  unless  we  temper  the  thought 
with  that  of  heroes  who  despised  it.  Upon  what  ground, 
is  of  small  account;  if  it  be  only  the  bishop  who  was 
burned  for  his  faith  in  the  antipodes,  his  memory  lightens 
the  heart  and  makes  us  walk  undisturbed  among  graves. 
And  so  the  martyrs'  monument  is  a  wholesome  heart- 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

some  spot  in  the  field  of  the  dead ;  and  as  we  look  upon 
it,  a  brave  influence  comes  to  us  from  the  land  of  those 
who  have  won  their  discharge  and,  in  another  phrase 
of  Patrick  Walker's,  got  **  cleanly  off  the  stage." 


320 


CHAPTER  VI 

NEW   TOWN  —  TOWN   AND  COUNTRY 

It  is  as  much  a  matter  of  course  to  decry  the  New 
Town  as  to  exalt  the  Old ;  and  the  most  celebrated  au- 
thorities have  picked  out  this  quarter  as  the  very  emblem 
of  what  is  condemnable  in  architecture.  Much  may  be 
said,  much  indeed  has  been  said,  upon  the  text;  but  to 
the  unsophisticated,  who  call  anything  pleasing  if  it  only 
pleases  them,  the  New  Town  of  Edinburgh  seems,  in 
itself,  not  only  gay  and  airy,  but  highly  picturesque. 
An  old  skipper,  invincibly  ignorant  of  all  theories  of 
the  sublime  and  beautiful,  once  propounded  as  his  most 
radiant  notion  for  Paradise  :  ''The  new  town  of  Edin- 
burgh, with  the  wind  the  matter  of  a  point  free."  He 
has  now  gone  to  that  sphere  where  all  good  tars  are 
promised  pleasant  weather  in  the  song,  and  perhaps  his 
thoughts  fly  somewhat  higher.  But  there  are  bright 
and  temperate  days  —  with  soft  air  coming  from  the  in- 
land hills,  military  music  sounding  bravely  from  the 
hollow  of  the  gardens,  the  flags  all  waving  on  the 
palaces  of  Princes  Street — when  I  have  seen  the  town*' 
through  a  sort  of  glory,  and  shaken  hands  in  sentiment 
with  the  old  sailor.  And  indeed,  for  a  man  who  has 
been  much  tumbled  round  Orcadian  skerries,  what  scene 
could  be  more  agreeable  to  witness  ?    On  such  a  day, 

321 


PICTURESQLIE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

the  valley  wears  a  surprising  air  of  festival.  It  seems  (I 
do  not  know  how  else  to  put  my  meaning)  as  if  it  were 
a  trifle  too  good  to  be  true.  It  is  what  Paris  ought  to 
be.  It  has  the  scenic  quality  that  would  best  set  off  a 
life  of  unthinking,  open-air  diversion.  It  was  meant  by 
nature  for  the  realisation  of  the  society  of  comic  operas. 
And  you  can  imagine,  if  the  climate  were  but  towardly, 
how  all  the  world  and  his  wife  would  flock  into  these 
gardens  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  to  hear  cheerful 
music,  to  sip  pleasant  drinks,  to  see  the  moon  rise  from 
behind  Arthur's  Seat  and  shine  upon  the  spires  and 
monuments  and  the  green  tree-tops  in  the  valley.  Alas! 
and  the  next  morning  the  rain  is  splashing  on  the  win- 
dow, and  the  passengers  flee  along  Princes  Street  be- 
fore the  galloping  squalls. 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  the  original  design  was  faulty 
and  short-sighted,  and  did  not  fully  profit  by  the  capa- 
bilities of  the  situation.  The  architect  was  essentially  a 
town  bird,  and  he  laid  out  the  modern  city  with  a  view 
to  street  scenery,  and  to  street  scenery  alone.  The  coun^ 
try  did  not  enter  into  his  plan;  he  had  never  lifted  his 
eyes  to  the  hills.  If  he  had  so  chosen,  every  street 
upon  the  northern  slope  might  have  been  a  noble  ter- 
race and  commanded  an  extensive  and  beautiful  view. 
But  the  space  has  been  too  closely  built;  many  of  the 
houses  front  the  wrong  way,  intent,  like  the  Man  with 
the  Muck-Rake,  on  what  is  not  worth  observation,  and 
standing  discourteously  back-foremost  in  the  ranks ;  and 
in  a  word,  it  is  too  often  only  from  attic  windows,  or 
here  and  there  at  a  crossing,  that  you  can  get  a  look 
beyond  the  city  upon  its  diversified  surroundings.  But 
perhaps  it  is  all  the  more  surprising,  to  come  suddenly 

322 


NEW  TOWN  — TOWN   AND  COUNTRY 

on  a  corner,  and  see  a  perspective  of  a  mile  or  more  of 
falling  street,  and  beyond  that  woods  and  villas,  and  a 
blue  arm  of  sea,  and  the  hills  upon  the  farther  side. 

Fergusson,  our  Edinburgh  poet,  Burns's  model,  once 
saw  a  butterfly  at  the  Town  Cross;  and  the  sight  in- 
spired him  with  a  worthless  little  ode.  This  painted 
countryman,  the  dandy  of  the  rose  garden,  looked  far 
abroad  in  such  a  humming  neighbourhood ;  and  you  can 
fancy  what  moral  considerations  a  youthful  poet  would 
supply.  But  the  incident,  in  a  fanciful  sort  of  way,  is 
characteristic  of  the  place.  Into  no  other  city  does  the 
sight  of  the  country  enter  so  far;  if  you  do  not  meet  a 
butterfly,  you  shall  certainly  catch  a  glimpse  of  far-away 
trees  upon  your  walk;  and  the  place  is  full  of  theatre 
tricks  in  the  way  of  scenery.  You  peep  under  an  arch, 
you  descend  stairs  that  look  as  if  they  would  land  you 
in  a  cellar,  you  turn  to  the  back-window  of  a  grimy 
tenement  in  a  lane:  —  and  behold!  you  are  face-to-face 
with  distant  and  bright  prospects.  You  turn  a  corner, 
and  there  is  the  sun  going  down  into  the  Highland  hills. 
You  look  down  an  alley,  and  see  ships  tacking  for  the 
Baltic. 

For  the  country  people  to  see  Edinburgh  on  her  hill- 
tops, is  one  thing ;  it  is  another  for  the  citizen,  from  the 
thick  of  his  affairs,  to  overlook  the  country.  It  should 
be  a  genial  and  ameliorating  influence  in  life;  it  should 
prompt  good  thoughts  and  remind  him  of  Nature's  un- 
concern :  that  he  can  watch  from  day  to  day,  as  he  trots 
ofiTiceward,  how  the  Spring  green  brightens  in  the  wood 
or  the  field  grows  black  under  a  moving  ploughshare. 
I  have  been  tempted,  in  this  connection,  to  deplore  the 
slender  faculties  of  the  human  race,  with  its  penny- 

323 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

whistle  of  a  voice,  its  dull  ears,  and  its  narrow  range  of 
sight.  If  you  could  see  as  people  are  to  see  in  heaven, 
if  you  had  eyes  such  as  you  can  fancy  for  a  superior 
race,  if  you  could  take  clear  note  of  the  objects  of  vision, 
not  only  a  few  yards,  but  a  few  miles  from  where  you 
stand:  —  think  how  agreeably  your  sight  would  be 
entertained,  how  pleasantly  your  thoughts  would  be 
diversified,  as  you  walked  the  Edinburgh  streets !  For 
you  might  pause,  in  some  business  perplexity,  in  the 
midst  of  the  city  traffic,  and  perhaps  catch  the  eye  of  a 
shepherd  as  he  sat  down  to  breathe  upon  a  heathery 
shoulder  of  the  Pentlands;  or  perhaps  some  urchin, 
clambering  in  a  country  elm,  would  put  aside  the  leaves 
and  show  you  his  flushed  and  rustic  visage ;  or  a  fisher 
racing  seawards,  with  the  tiller  under  his  elbow,  and  the 
sail  sounding  in  the  wind,  would  fling  you  a  salutation 
from  between  Anst'er  and  the  May. 

To  be  old  is  not  the  same  thing  as  to  be  picturesque; 
nor  because  the  Old  Town  bears  a  strange  physiog- 
nomy, does  it  at  all  follow  that  the  New  Town  shall  look 
commonplace.  Indeed,  apart  from  antique  houses,  it  is 
curious  how  much  description  would  apply  commonly 
to  either.  The  same  sudden  accidents  of  ground,  a 
similar  dominating  site  above  the  plain,  and  the  same 
superposition  of  one  rank  of  society  over  another,  are  to 
be  observed  in  both.  Thus,  the  broad  and  comely 
approach  to  Princes  Street  from  the  east,  lined  with 
hotels  and  public  offices,  makes  a  leap  over  the  gorge  of 
the  Low  Calton ;  if  you  cast  a  glance  over  the  parapet, 
you  look  direct  into  that  sunless  and  disreputable  con- 
fluent of  Leith  Street;  and  the  same  tall  houses  open 
upon  both  thoroughfares.     This  is  only  the  New  Town 

524 


NEW  TOWN  — TOWN   AND  COUNTRY 

passing  overhead  above  its  own  cellars ;  walking,  so  to 
speak,  over  its  own  children,  as  is  the  way  of  cities  and 
the  human  race.  But  at  the  Dean  Bridge,  you  may  be- 
hold a  spectacle  of  a  more  novel  order.  The  river  runs 
at  the  bottom  of  a  deep  valley,  among  rocks  and  be- 
tween gardens;  the  crest  of  either  bank  is  occupied  by 
some  of  the  most  commodious  streets  and  crescents  in 
the  modern  city;  and  a  handsome  bridge  unites  the  two 
summits.  Over  this,  every  afternoon,  private  carriages 
go  spinning  by,  and  ladies  with  card-cases  pass  to  and 
fro  about  the  duties  of  society.  And  yet  down  below, 
you  may  still  see,  with  its  mills  and  foaming  weir,  the 
little  rural  village  of  Dean.  Modern  improvement  has 
gone  overhead  on  its  high-level  viaduct;  and  the  ex- 
tended city  has  cleanly  overleapt,  and  left  unaltered, 
what  was  once  the  summer  retreat  of  its  comfortable 
citizens.  Every  town  embraces  hamlets  in  its  growth ; 
Edinburgh  herself  has  embraced  a  good  few ;  but  it  is 
strange  to  see  one  still  surviving  —  and  to  see  it  some 
hundreds  of  feet  below  your  path.  Is  it  Torre  del  Greco 
that  is  built  above  buried  Herculaneum  ?  Herculaneum 
was  dead  at  least;  but  the  sun  still  shines  upon  the  roofs 
of  Dean ;  the  smoke  still  rises  thriftily  from  its  chimneys ; 
the  dusty  miller  comes  to  his  door,  looks  at  the  gurgling 
water,  hearkens  to  the  turning  wheel  and  the  birds 
about  the  shed,  and  perhaps  whistles  an  air  of  his  own 
to  enrich  the  symphony — for  all  the  world  as  if  Edin- 
burgh were  still  the  old  Edinburgh  on  the  Castle  Hill, 
and  Dean  were  still  the  quietest  of  hamlets  buried  a  mile 
or  so  in  the  green  country. 

It  is  not  so  long  ago  since  magisterial  David  Hume 
lent  the  authority  of  his  example  to  the  exodus  from  the 

325 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

Old  Town,  and  took  up  his  new  abode  in  a  street  which 
is  still  (so  oddly  may  a  jest  become  perpetuated)  known 
as  Saint  David  Street.  Nor  is  the  town  so  large  but  a 
holiday  schoolboy  may  harry  a  bird's  nest  within  half  a 
mile  of  his  own  door.  There  are  places  that  still  smell 
of  the  plough  in  memory's  nostrils.  Here,  one  had  heard 
a  blackbird  on  a  hawthorn;  there,  another  was  taken 
on  summer  evenings  to  eat  strawberries  and  cream ;  and 
you  have  seen  a  waving  wheatfield  on  the  site  of  your 
present  residence.  The  memories  of  an  Edinburgh  boy 
are  but  partly  memories  of  the  town.  I  look  back  with 
delight  on  many  an  escalade  of  garden  walls ;  many  a 
ramble  among  lilacs  full  of  piping  birds ;  many  an  ex- 
ploration in  obscure  quarters  that  were  neither  town  nor 
country ;  and  I  think  that  both  for  my  companions  and 
myself,  there  was  a  special  interest,  a  point  of  romance, 
and  a  sentiment  as  of  foreign  travel,  when  we  hit  in  our 
excursions  on  the  butt  end  of  some  former  hamlet,  and 
found  a  few  rustic  cottages  embedded  among  streets 
and  squares.  The  tunnel  to  the  Scotland  Street  Station, 
the  sight  of  the  trains  shooting  out  of  its  dark  maw  with 
the  two  guards  upon  the  brake,  the  thought  of  its  length 
and  the  many  ponderous  edifices  and  open  thoroughfares 
above,  were  certainly  things  of  paramount  impressive- 
ness  to  a  young  mind.  It  was  a  subterranean  passage, 
although  of  a  larger  bore  than  we  were  accustomed  to 
in  Ainsworth's  novels;  and  these  two  words,  "subter- 
ranean passage,"  were  in  themselves  an  irresistible  at- 
traction, and  seemed  to  bring  us  nearer  in  spirit  to  the 
heroes  we  loved  and  the  black  rascals  we  secretly  as- 
pired to  imitate.  To  scale  the  Castle  Rock  from  West 
Princes  Street  Gardens,  and  lay  a  triumphal  hand  against 

326 


NEW  TOWN  — TOWN   AND   COUNTRY 

the  rampart  itself,  was  to  taste  a  high  order  of  romantic 
pleasure.  And  there  are  other  sights  and  exploits  which 
crowd  back  upon  my  mind  under  a  very  strong  illu- 
mination of  remembered  pleasure.  But  the  effect  of  not 
one  of  them  all  will  compare  with  the  discoverer's  joy, 
and  the  sense  of  old  Time  and  his  slow  changes  on  the 
face  of  this  earth,  with  which  I  explored  such  corners 
as  Cannonmills  or  Water  Lane,  or  the  nugget  of  cot- 
tages at  Broughton  Market.  They  were  more  rural  than 
the  open  country,  and  gave  a  greater  impression  of  an- 
tiquity than  the  oldest  land  upon  the  High  Street.  They 
too,  like  Fergusson's  butterfly,  had  a  quaint  air  of  having 
wandered  far  from  their  own  place ;  they  looked  abashed 
and  homely,  with  their  gables  and  their  creeping  plants, 
their  outside  stairs  and  running  mill-streams ;  there  were 
corners  that  smelt  like  the  end  of  the  country  garden 
where  I  spent  my  Aprils ;  and  the  people  stood  to  gos- 
sip at  their  doors,  as  they  might  have  done  in  Colinton 
or  Cramond. 

In  a  great  measure  we  may,  and  shall,  eradicate  this 
haunting  flavour  of  the  country  The  last  elm  is  dead 
in  Elm  Row;  and  the  villas  and  the  workmen's  quar- 
ters spread  apace  on  all  the  borders  of  the  city.  We 
can  cut  down  the  trees ;  we  can  bury  the  grass  under 
dead  paving-stones ;  we  can  drive  brisk  streets  through 
all  our  sleepy  quarters ;  and  we  may  forget  the  stories 
and  the  playgrounds  of  our  boyhood.  But  we  have 
some  possessions  that  not  even  the  infuriate  zeal  of 
builders  can  utterly  abolish  and  destroy.  Nothing  can 
abolish  the  hills,  unless  it  be  a  cataclysm  of  nature  which 
shall  subvert  Edinburgh  Castle  itself  and  lay  all  her  florid 
structures  in  the  dust.     And  as  long  as  we  have  the 

327 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON  EDINBURGH 

hills  and  the  Firth,  we  have  a  famous  heritage  to  leave 
our  children.  Our  windows,  at  no  expense  to  us,  are 
mostly  artfully  stained  to  represent  a  landscape.  And 
when  the  Spring  comes  round,  and  the  hawthorn  be- 
gins to  flower,  and  the  meadows  to  smell  of  young 
grass,  even  in  the  thickest  of  our  streets,  the  country 
hill-tops  find  out  a  young  man's  eyes,  and  set  his  heart 
beating  for  travel  and  pure  air. 


528 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  VILLA   aUARTERS 

Mr.  Ruskin's  denunciation  of  the  New  Town  of  Edin- 
burgh includes,  as  I  have  heard  it  repeated,  nearly  all 
the  stone  and  lime  we  have  to  show.  Many  however 
find  a  grand  air  and  something  settled  and  imposing  in 
the  better  parts;  and  upon  many,  as  I  have  said,  the 
confusion  of  styles  induces  an  agreeable  stimulation  of 
the  mind.  But  upon  the  subject  of  our  recent  villa  ar- 
chitecture, I  am  frankly  ready  to  mingle  my  tears  with 
Mr.  Ruskin's,  and  it  is  a  subject  which  makes  one  envi- 
ous of  his  large  declamatory  and  controversial  eloquence. 

Day  by  day,  one  new  villa,  one  new  object  of  offence, 
is  added  to  another;  all  around  Newington  and  Morn- 
ingside,  the  dismallest  structures  keep  springing  up  like 
mushrooms;  the  pleasant  hills  are  loaded  with  them, 
each  impudently  squatted  in  its  garden,  each  roofed  and 
carrying  chimneys  like  a  house.  And  yet  a  glance  of 
an  eye  discovers  their  true  character.  They  are  not 
houses;  for  they  were  not  designed  with  a  view  to 
human  habitation,  and  the  internal  arrangements  are,  as 
they  tell  me,  fantastically  unsuited  to  the  needs  of  man. 
They  are  not  buildings ;  for  you  can  scarcely  say  a  thing 
is  built  where  every  measurement  is  in  clamant  dispro- 
portion with  its  neighbour.  They  belong  to  no  style  of 
art,  only  to  a  form  of  business  much  to  be  regretted. 

329 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

Why  should  it  be  cheaper  to  erect  a  structure  where 
the  size  of  the  windows  bears  no  rational  relation  to  the 
size  of  the  front  ?  Is  there  any  profit  in  a  misplaced 
chimney-stalk  ?  Does  a  hard-working,  greedy  builder 
gain  more  on  a  monstrosity  than  on  a  decent  cottage  of 
equal  plainness  ?  Frankly,  we  should  say,  No.  Bricks 
may  be  omitted,  and  green  timber  employed,  in  the  con- 
struction of  even  a  very  elegant  design ;  and  there  is  no 
reason  why  a  chimney  should  be  made  to  vent,  because 
it  is  so  situated  as  to  look  comely  from  without.  On 
the  other  hand,  there  is  a  noble  way  of  being  ugly :  a 
high-aspiring  fiasco  like  the  fall  of  Lucifer.  There  are 
daring  and  gaudy  buildings  that  manage  to  be  offensive, 
without  being  contemptible;  and  we  know  that  ''fools 
rush  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread. "  But  to  aim  at  mak- 
ing a  common-place  villa,  and  to  make  it  insufferably 
ugly  in  each  particular;  to  attempt  the  homeliest  achieve- 
ment and  to  attain  the  bottom  of  derided  failure ;  not  to 
have  any  theory  but  profit  and  yet,  at  an  equal  expense, 
to  outstrip  all  competitors  in  the  art  of  conceiving  and 
rendering  permanent  deformity;  and  to  do  all  this  in 
what  is,  by  nature,  one  of  the  most  agreeable  neighbour- 
hoods in  Britain : —  what  are  we  to  say,  but  that  this 
also  is  a  distinction,  hard  to  earn  although  not  greatly 
worshipful  ? 

Indifferent  buildings  give  pain  to  the  sensitive;  but 
these  things  offend  the  plainest  taste.  It  is  a  danger 
which  threatens  the  amenity  of  the  town;  and  as  this 
eruption  keeps  spreading  on  our  borders,  we  have  ever 
the  farther  to  walk  among  unpleasant  sights,  before  we 
gain  the  country  air.  If  the  population  of  Edinburgh 
were  a  living,  autonomous  body,  it  would  arise  like 

330 


THE  VILLA   QUARTERS 

one  man  and  make  night  hideous  with  arson ;  the  build- 
ers and  their  accomplices  would  be  driven  to  work,  like 
the  Jews  of  yore,  with  the  trowel  in  one  hand  and  the 
defensive  cutlass  in  the  other;  and  as  soon  as  one  of 
these  masonic  wonders  had  been  consummated,  right- 
minded  iconoclasts  should  fall  thereon  and  make  an  end 
of  it  at  once. 

Possibly  these  words  may  meet  the  eye  of  a  builder 
or  two.  It  is  no  use  asking  them  to  employ  an  architect ; 
for  that  would  be  to  touch  them  in  a  delicate  quarter, 
and  its  use  would  largely  depend  on  what  architect 
they  were  minded  to  call  in.  But  let  them  get  any 
architect  in  the  world  to  point  out  any  reasonably  well- 
proportioned  villa,  not  his  own  design;  and  let  them 
reproduce  that  model  to  satiety. 


331 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  CALTON   HILL 

The  east  of  new  Edinburgh  is  guarded  by  a  craggy 
hill,  of  no  great  elevation,  which  the  town  embraces. 
The  old  London  road  runs  on  one  side  of  it;  while  the 
New  Approach,  leaving  it  on  the  other  hand,  completes 
the  circuit.  You  mount  by  stairs  in  a  cutting  of  the  rock 
to  find  yourself  in  a  field  of  monuments.  Dugald  Stewart 
has  the  honours  of  situation  and  architecture ;  Burns  is 
memorialised  lower  down  upon  a  spur;  Lord  Nelson,  as 
befits  a  sailor,  gives  his  name  to  the  topgallant  of  the  Gal- 
lon Hill.  This  latter  erection  has  been  differently  and  yet, 
in  both  cases,  aptly  compared  to  a  telescope  and  a  butter- 
churn  ;  comparisons  apart,  it  ranks  among  the  vilest  of 
men's  handiworks.  But  the  chief  feature  is  an  unfinished 
range  of  columns,  "the  Modern  Ruin"  as  it  has  been 
called,  an  imposing  object  from  far  and  near,  and  giv- 
ing Edinburgh,  even  from  the  sea,  that  false  air  of  a  Mod- 
ern Athens  which  has  earned  for  her  so  many  slighting 
speeches.  It  was  meant  to  be  a  National  Monument; 
and  its  present  state  is  a  very  suitable  monument  to  cer- 
tain national  characteristics.  The  old  Observatory — a 
quaint  brown  building  on  the  edge  of  the  steep  —  and 
the  new  Observatory  —  a  classical  edifice  with  a  dome 
—  occupy  the  central  portion  of  the  summit.     All  these 

332 


THE  CALTON   HILL 

/ire  scattered  on  a  green  turf,  browsed  over  by  some 
sheep. 

The  scene  suggests  reflections  on  fame  and  on  man's 
injustice  to  the  dead.  You  see  Dugald  Stewart  rather 
more  handsomely  commemorated  than  Burns.  Imme- 
diately below,  in  the  Canongate  churchyard,  lies  Robert 
Fergusson,  Burns's  master  in  his  art,  who  died  insane 
while  yet  a  stripling;  and  if  Dugald  Stewart  has  been 
somewhat  too  boisterously  acclaimed,  the  Edinburgh 
poet,  on  the  other  hand,  is  most  unrighteously  forgotten. 
The  votaries  of  Burns,  a  crew  too  common  in  all  ranks 
in  Scotland  and  more  remarkable  for  number  than  dis- 
cretion, eagerly  suppress  all  mention  of  the  lad  who 
handed  to  him  the  poetic  impulse  and,  up  to  the  time 
when  he  grew  famous,  continued  to  influence  him  in 
his  manner  and  the  choice  of  subjects.  Burns  himself 
not  only  acknowledged  his  debt  in  a  fragment  of  auto- 
biography, but  erected  a  tomb  over  the  grave  in  Can- 
ongate churchyard.  This  was  worthy  of  an  artist,  but 
it  was  done  in  vain ;  and  although  I  think  I  have  read 
nearly  all  the  biographies  of  Burns,  I  cannot  remember 
one  in  which  the  modesty  of  nature  was  not  violated, 
or  where  Fergusson  was  not  sacrificed  to  the  credit  of 
his  follower's  originality.  There  is  a  kind  of  gaping  ad- 
miration that  would  fain  roll  Shakespeare  and  Bacon 
into  one,  to  have  a  bigger  thing  to  gape  at ;  and  a  class 
of  men  who  cannot  edit  one  author  without  disparaging 
all  others.  They  are  indeed  mistaken  if  they  think  to 
please  the  great  originals ;  and  whoever  puts  Fergusson 
right  with  fame,  cannot  do  better  than  dedicate  his  la- 
bours to  the  memory  of  Burns,  who  will  be  the  best 
delighted  of  the  dead. 


PICTURESQyE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

Of  all  places  for  a  view,  this  Calton  Hill  is  perhaps 
the  best;  since  you  can  see  the  Castle,  which  you  lose 
from  the  Castle,  and  Arthur's  Seat,  which  you  cannot 
see  from  Arthur's  Seat.  It  is  the  place  to  stroll  on  one 
of  those  days  of  sunshine  and  east  wind  which  are  so 
common  in  our  more  than  temperate  summer.  The 
breeze  comes  off  the  sea,  with  a  little  of  the  freshness, 
and  that  touch  of  chill,  peculiar  to  the  quarter,  which  is 
delightful  to  certain  very  ruddy  organizations  and  greatly 
the  reverse  to  the  majority  of  mankind.  It  brings  with 
it  a  faint,  floating  haze,  a  cunning  decolouriser,  although 
not  thick  enough  to  obscure  outlines  near  at  hand.  But 
the  haze  lies  more  thickly  to  windward  at  the  far  end  of 
Musselburgh  Bay ;  and  over  the  Links  of  Aberlady  and 
Berwick  Law  and  the  hump  of  the  Bass  Rock  it  assumes 
the  aspect  of  a  bank  of  thin  sea  fog. 

Immediately  underneath  upon  the  south,  you  com- 
mand the  yards  of  the  High  School,  and  the  towers  and 
courts  of  the  new  Jail  —  a  large  place,  castellated  to  the 
extent  of  folly,  standing  by  itself  on  the  edge  of  a  steep 
cliff,  and  often  joyfully  hailed  by  tourists  as  the  Castle. 
In  the  one,  you  may  perhaps  see  female  prisoners  tak- 
ing exercise  like  a  string  of  nuns;  in  the  other,  school- 
boys running  at  play  and  their  shadows  keeping  step 
with  them.  From  the  bottom  of  the  valley,  a  gigantic 
chimney  rises  almost  to  the  level  of  the  eye,  a  taller  and 
a  shapelier  edifice  than  Nelson's  Monument.  Look  a 
little  farther,  and  there  is  Holyrood  Palace,  with  its  Gothic 
frontal  and  ruined  abbey,  and  the  red  sentry  pacing 
smartly  to  and  fro  before  the  door  like  a  mechanical  fig- 
ure in  a  panorama.  By  way  of  an  outpost,  you  can 
single  out  the  little  peak-roofed  lodge,  over  which  Riz- 

334 


THE  CALTON   HILL 

zio's  murderers  made  their  escape  and  where  Queen 
Mary  herself,  according  to  gossip,  bathed  in  white  wine 
to  entertain  her  loveliness.  Behind  and  overhead,  lie  the 
Queen's  Park,  from  Muschat's  Cairn  to  Dumbiedykes, 
St.  Margaret's  Loch,  and  the  long  wall  of  Salisbury  Crags ; 
and  thence,  by  knoll  and  rocky  bulwark  and  precipitous 
slope,  the  eye  rises  to  the  top  of  Arthur's  Seat,  a  hill  for 
magnitude,  a  mountain  in  virtue  of  its  bold  design.  This 
upon  your  left.  Upon  the  right,  the  roofs  and  spires  of 
the  Old  Town  climb  one  above  another  to  where  the 
citadel  prints  its  broad  bulk  and  jagged  crown  of  basti- 
ons on  the  western  sky.  Perhaps  it  is  now  one  in  the 
afternoon ;  and  at  the  same  instant  of  time,  a  ball  rises 
to  the  summit  of  Nelson's  flagstaff  close  at  hand,  and, 
far  away,  a  puff  of  smoke  followed  by  a  report  bursts 
from  the  half-moon  battery  at  the  Castle.  This  is  the 
time-gun  by  which  people  set  their  watches,  as  far  as 
the  sea  coast  or  in  hill  farms  upon  the  Pentlands.  To 
complete  the  view,  the  eye  enfilades  Princes  Street,  black 
with  traffic,  and  has  a  broad  look  over  the  valley  be- 
tween the  Old  Town  and  the  New :  here,  full  of  railway 
trains  and  stepped  over  by  the  high  North  Bridge  upon 
its  many  columns,  and  there,  green  with  trees  and  gar- 
dens. 

On  the  north,  the  Calton  Hill  is  neither  so  abrupt  in 
itself  nor  has  it  so  exceptional  an  outlook ;  and  yet  even 
here  it  commands  a  striking  prospect.  A  gully  sepa- 
rates it  from  the  New  Town.  This  is  Greenside,  where 
witches  were  burned  and  tournaments  held  in  former 
days.  Down  that  almost  precipitous  bank,  Bothwell 
launched  his  horse,  and  so  first,  as  they  say,  attracted 
the  bright  eyes  of  Mary.    It  is  now  tesselated  with  sheets 

335 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

and  blankets  out  to  dry,  and  the  sound  of  people  beat- 
ing carpets  is  rarely  absent.  Beyond  all  this,  the  sub- 
urbs run  out  to  Leith ;  Leith  camps  on  the  seaside  with 
her  forest  of  masts ;  Leith  roads  are  full  of  ships  at  an- 
chor; the  sun  picks  out  the  white  pharos  upon  Inch- 
keith  Island ;  the  Firth  extends  on  either  hand  from  the 
Ferry  to  the  May;  the  towns  of  Fifeshire  sit,  each  in  its 
bank  of  blowing  smoke,  along  the  opposite  coast;  and 
the  hills  inclose  the  view,  except  to  the  farthest  east, 
where  the  haze  of  the  horizon  rests  upon  the  open  sea. 
There  lies  the  road  to  Norway :  a  dear  road  for  Sir  Pat- 
rick Spens  and  his  Scots  Lords ;  and  yonder  smoke  on 
the  hither  side  of  Largo  Law  is  Aberdour,  from  whence 
they  sailed  to  seek  a  queen  for  Scotland. 

"  O  lang,  lang,  may  the  ladies  sit, 
Wi'  their  fans  into  their  hand. 
Or  ere  they  see  Sir  Patrick  Spens 
Come  sailing  to  the  land!  " 

The  sight  of  the  sea,  even  from  a  city,  will  bring 
thoughts  of  storm  and  sea  disaster.  The  sailors'  wives 
of  Leith  and  the  fisherwomen  of  Cockenzie,  not  sitting 
languorously  with  fans,  but  crowding  to  the  tail  of  the 
harbour  with  a  shawl  about  their  ears,  may  still  look 
vainly  for  brave  Scotsmen  who  will  return  no  more,  or 
boats  that  have  gone  on  their  last  fishing.  Since  Sir 
Patrick  sailed  from  Aberdour,  what  a  multitude  have 
gone  down  in  the  North  Sea!  Yonder  is  Auldhame, 
where  the  London  smack  went  ashore  and  wreckers  cut 
the  rings  from  ladies'  fingers;  and  a  few  miles  round 
Fife  Ness  is  the  fatal  Inchcape,  now  a  star  of  guidance; 

336 


THE  CALTON   HILL 

and  the  lee  shore  to  the  east  of  the  Inchcape,  is  that  For- 
farshire coast  where  Mucklebackit  sorrowed  for  his  son. 

These  are  the  main  features  of  the  scene  roughly 
sketched.  How  they  are  all  tilted  by  the  inclination  of 
the  ground,  how  each  stands  out  in  delicate  relief 
against  the  rest,  what  manifold  detail,  and  play  of  sun 
and  shadow,  animate  and  accentuate  the  picture,  is  a 
matter  for  a  person  on  the  spot,  and  turning  swiftly  on 
his  heels,  to  grasp  and  bind  together  in  one  comprehen- 
sive look.  It  is  the  character  of  such  a  prospect,  to  be 
full  of  change  and  of  things  moving.  The  multiplicity 
embarrasses  the  eye;  and  the  mind,  among  so  much, 
suffers  itself  to  grow  absorbed  with  single  points.  You 
remark  a  tree  in  a  hedgerow,  or  follow  a  cart  along  a 
country  road.  You  turn  to  the  city,  and  see  children, 
dwarfed  by  distance  into  pigmies,  at  play  about  suburban 
doorsteps;  you  have  a  glimpse  upon  a  thoroughfare 
where  people  are  densely  moving;  you  note  ridge  after 
ridge  of  chimney-stacks  running  downhill  one  behind 
another,  and  church  spires  rising  bravely  from  the  sea  of 
roofs.  At  one  of  the  innumerable  windows,  you  watch 
a  figure  moving;  on  one  of  the  multitude  of  roofs,  you 
watch  clambering  chimney-sweeps.  The  wind  takes  a 
run  and  scatters  the  smoke;  bells  are  heard,  far  and 
near,  faint  and  loud,  to  tell  the  hour;  or  perhaps  a  bird 
goes  dipping  evenly  over  the  housetops,  like  a  gull 
across  the  waves.  And  here  you  are  in  the  meantime, 
on  this  pastoral  hillside,  among  nibbling  sheep  and 
looked  upon  by  monumental  buildings. 

Return  thither  on  some  clear,  dark,  moonless  night, 
with  a  ring  of  frost  in  the  air,  and  only  a  star  or  two  set 
sparsedly  in  the  vault  of  heaven ;  and  you  will  find  a 

337 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

sight  as  stimulating  as  the  hoariest  summit  of  the  Alps. 
The  solitude  seems  perfect;  the  patient  astronomer,  flat 
on  his  back  under  the  Observatory  dome  and  spying 
heaven's  secrets,  is  your  only  neighbour;  and  yet  from 
all  round  you  there  come  up  the  dull  hum  of  the  city, 
the  tramp  of  countless  people  marching  out  of  time,  the 
rattle  of  carriages  and  the  continuous  keen  jingle  of  the 
tramway  bells.  An  hour  or  so  before,  the  gas  was 
turned  on;  lamplighters  scoured  the  city;  in  every 
house,  from  kitchen  to  attic,  the  windows  kindled  and 
gleamed  forth  into  the  dusk.  And  so  now,  although  the 
town  lies  blue  and  darkling  on  her  hills,  innumerable 
spots  of  this  bright  element  shine  far  and  near  along  the 
pavements  and  upon  the  high  fa9ades.  Moving  lights 
of  the  railway  pass  and  re-pass  below  the  stationary 
lights  upon  the  bridge.  Lights  burn  in  the  Jail.  Lights 
burn  high  up  in  the  tall  lands  and  on  the  Castle  turrets, 
they  burn  low  down  in  Greenside  or  along  the  Park. 
They  run  out  one  beyond  the  other  into  the  dark  country. 
They  walk  in  a  procession  down  to  Leith,  and  shine 
singly  far  along  Leith  Pier.  Thus,  the  plan  of  the  city 
and  her  suburbs  is  mapped  out  upon  the  ground  of 
blackness,  as  when  a  child  pricks  a  drawing  full  of  pin- 
holes and  exposes  it  before  a  candle;  not  the  darkest 
night  of  winter  can  conceal  her  high  station  and  fanciful 
design ;  every  evening  in  the  year  she  proceeds  to  illu- 
minate herself  in  honour  of  her  own  beauty ;  and  as  if  to 
complete  the  scheme  —  or  rather  as  if  some  prodigal 
Pharaoh  were  beginning  to  extend  to  the  adjacent  sea  and 
country — half  way  over  to  Fife,  there  is  an  outpost  of 
light  upon  Inchkeith,  and  far  to  seaward,  yet  another  on 
the  May. 

338 


THE  CALTON   HILL 

And  while  you  are  looking,  across  upon  the  Castle 
Hill,  the  drums  and  bugles  begin  to  recall  the  scattered 
garrison ;  the  air  thrills  with  the  sound ;  the  bugles  sing 
aloud ;  and  the  last  rising  flourish  mounts  and  melts  into 
the  darkness  like  a  star:  a  martial  swan-song,  fitly 
rounding  in  the  labours  of  the  day. 


539 


CHAPTER  IX 

WINTER   AND   NEW   YEAR 

The  Scotch  dialect  is  singularly  rich  in  terms  of  re- 
proach against  the  winter  wind.  Snell,  hlae,  nirly,  and 
scowfhering,  are  four  of  these  significant  vocables ;  they 
are  all  words  that  carry  a  shiver  with  them ;  and  for  my 
part  as  I  see  them  aligned  before  me  on  the  page,  I  am 
persuaded  that  a  big  wind  comes  tearing  over  the  Firth 
from  Burntisland  and  the  northern  hills;  I  think  I  can 
hear  it  howl  in  the  chimney,  and  as  I  set  my  face  north- 
wards, feel  its  smarting  kisses  on  my  cheek.  Even  in 
the  names  of  places  there  is  often  a  desolate,  inhospi- 
table sound ;  and  I  remember  two  from  the  near  neigh- 
bourhood of  Edinburgh,  Cauldhame  and  Blaw-weary, 
that  would  promise  but  starving  comfort  to  their  inhabi- 
tants. The  inclemency  of  heaven,  which  has  thus  en- 
dowed the  language  of  Scotland  with  words,  has  also 
largely  modified  the  spirit  of  its  poetry.  Both  poverty 
and  a  northern  climate  teach  men  the  love  of  the  hearth 
and  the  sentiment  of  the  family ;  and  the  latter,  in  its 
own  right,  inclines  a  poet  to  the  praise  of  strong  waters. 
In  Scotland,  all  our  singers  have  a  stave  or  two  for  blaz- 
ing fires  and  stout  potations:  —  to  get  indoors  out  of  the 
wind  and  to  swallow  something  hot  to  the  stomach, 
are  benefits  so  easily  appreciated  where  they  dwelt ! 

340 


WINTER  AND  NEW   YEAR 

And  this  is  not  only  so  in  country  districts  where  the 
shepherd  must  wade  in  the  snow  all  day  after  his  flock, 
but  in  Edinburgh  itself,  and  nowhere  more  apparently 
stated  than  in  the  works  of  our  Edinburgh  poet,  Fer- 
gusson.  He  was  a  delicate  youth,  I  take  it,  and  will- 
ingly slunk  from  the  robustious  winter  to  an  inn  fire- 
side. Love  was  absent  from  his  life,  or  only  present, 
if  you  prefer,  in  such  a  form  that  even  the  least  serious 
of  Burns's  amourettes  was  ennobling  by  comparison; 
and  so  there  is  nothing  to  temper  the  sentiment  of  in- 
door revelry  which  pervades  the  poor  boy's  verses.  Al- 
though it  is  characteristic  of  his  native  town,  and  the 
manners  of  its  youth  to  the  present  day,  this  spirit  has 
perhaps  done  something  to  restrict  his  popularity.  He 
recalls  a  supper-party  pleasantry  with  something  akin 
to  tenderness ;  and  sounds  the  praises  of  the  act  of  drink- 
ing as  if  it  were  virtuous,  or  at  least  witty,  in  itself.  The 
kindly  jar,  the  warm  atmosphere  of  tavern  parlours,  and 
the  revelry  of  lawyers'  clerks,  do  not  offer  by  themselves 
the  materials  of  a  rich  existence.  It  was  not  choice,  so 
much  as  an  external  fate,  that  kept  Fergusson  in  this 
round  of  sordid  pleasures.  A  Scot  of  poetic  temperament, 
and  without  religious  exaltation,  drops  as  if  by  nature 
into  the  public-house.  The  picture  may  not  be  pleasing ; 
but  what  else  is  a  man  to  do  in  this  dog's  weather  ? 

To  none  but  those  who  have  themselves  suffered  the 
thing  in  the  body,  can  the  gloom  and  depression  of  our 
Edinburgh  winter  be  brought  home.  For  some  consti- 
tutions there  is  something  almost  physically  disgusting 
in  the  bleak  ugliness  of  easterly  weather ;  the  wind 
wearies,  the  sickly  sky  depresses  them ;  and  they  turn 
back  from  their  walk  to  avoid  the  aspect  of  the  unre- 

341 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

fulgent  sun  going  down  among  perturbed  and  pallid 
mists.  The  days  are  so  short  that  a  man  does  much  of 
his  business,  and  certainly  all  his  pleasure,  by  the  hag- 
gard glare  of  gas  lamps.  The  roads  are  as  heavy  as  a 
fallow.  People  go  by,  so  drenched  and  draggle-tailed 
that  I  have  often  wondered  how  they  found  the  heart  to 
undress.  And  meantime  the  wind  whistles  through  the 
town  as  if  it  were  an  open  meadow ;  and  if  you  lie  awake 
all  night,  you  hear  it  shrieking  and  raving  overhead  with 
a  noise  of  shipwrecks  and  of  falling  houses.  In  a  word, 
life  is  so  unsightly  that  there  are  times  when  the  heart 
turns  sick  in  a  man's  inside ;  and  the  look  of  a  tavern,  or  the 
thought  of  the  warm,  fire-lit  study,  is  like  the  touch  of 
land  to  one  who  has  been  long  struggling  with  the  seas. 
As  the  weather  hardens  towards  frost,  the  world  be- 
gins to  improve  for  Edinburgh  people.  We  enjoy  superb, 
sub-arctic  sunsets,  with  the  profile  of  the  city  stamped 
in  indigo  upon  a  sky  of  luminous  green.  The  wind  may 
still  be  cold,  but  there  is  a  briskness  in  the  air  that  stirs 
good  blood.  People  do  not  all  look  equally  sour  and 
downcast.  They  fall  into  two  divisions :  one,  the  knight 
of  the  blue  facQ  and  hollow  paunch,  whom  Winter  has 
gotten  by  the  vitals  ;  the  other  well  lined  with  New- 
year's  fare,  conscious  of  the  touch  of  cold  on  his  peri- 
phery, but  stepping  through  it  by  the  glow  of  his  in- 
ternal fires.  Such  an  one  1  remember,  triply  cased  in 
grease,  whom  no  extremity  of  temperature  could  van- 
quish. * '  Well, "  would  be  his  jovial  salutation,  * '  here's 
a  sneezer !  "  And  the  look  of  these  warm  fellows  is  tonic, 
and  upholds  their  drooping  fellow-townsmen.  There 
is  yet  another  class  who  do  not  depend  on  corporal  ad- 
vantages, but  support  the  winter  in  virtue  of  a  brave  and 

342 


WINTER  AND  NEW   YEAR 

merry  heart.  One  shivering  evening,  cold  enough  for 
frost  but  with  too  high  a  wind,  and  a  little  past  sun- 
down, when  the  lamps  were  beginning  to  enlarge  their 
circles  in  the  growing  dusk,  a  brace  of  barefoot  lassies 
were  seen  coming  eastward  in  the  teeth  of  the  wind. 
If  the  one  was  as  much  as  nine,  the  other  was  certainly 
not  more  than  seven.  They  were  miserably  clad ;  and 
the  pavement  was  so  cold,  you  would  have  thought  no 
one  could  lay  a  naked  foot  on  it  unflinching.  Yet  they 
came  along  waltzing,  if  you  please,  while  the  elder  sang 
a  tune  to  give  them  music.  The  person  who  saw  this, 
and  whose  heart  was  full  of  bitterness  at  the  moment, 
pocketed  a  reproof  which  has  been  of  use  to  him  ever 
since,  and  which  he  now  hands  on,  with  his  good 
wishes,  to  the  reader. 

At  length,  Edinburgh,  with  her  satellite  hills  and  all 
the  sloping  country,  are  sheeted  up  in  white.  If  it  has 
happened  in  the  dark  hours,  nurses  pluck  their  children 
out  of  bed  and  run  with  them  to  some  commanding 
window,  whence  they  may  see  the  change  that  has 
been  worked  upon  earth's  face.  "A'  the  hills  are  cov- 
ered wi'  snaw,"  they  sing,  "and  Winter's  noo  come 
fairly  !  "  And  the  children,  marvelling  at  the  silence 
and  the  white  landscape,  find  a  spell  appropriate  to  the 
season  in  the  words.  The  reverberation  of  the  snow 
increases  the  pale  daylight,  and  brings  all  objects  nearer 
the  eye.  The  Pentlands  are  smooth  and  glittering,  with 
here  and  there  the  black  ribbon  of  a  dry-stone  dyke,  and 
here  and  there,  if  there  be  wind,  a  cloud  of  blowing 
snow  upon  a  shoulder.  The  Firth  seems  a  leaden  creek, 
that  a  man  might  almost  jump  across,  between  well- 
powdered  Lothian  and  well-powdered  Fife.     And  the 

343 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

effect  is  not,  as  in  other  cities,  a  thing  of  half  a  day ;  the 
streets  are  soon  trodden  black,  but  the  country  keeps 
its  virgin  white ;  and  you  have  only  to  lift  your  eyes  and 
look  over  miles  of  country  snow.  An  indescribable 
cheerfulness  breathes  about  the  city ;  and  the  well-fed 
heart  sits  lightly  and  beats  gaily  in  the  bosom.  It  is 
New-year's  weather. 

New-year's  Day,  the  great  national  festival,  is  a  time 
of  family  expansions  and  of  deep  carousal.  Sometimes, 
by  a  sore  stroke  of  fate  for  this  Calvinistic  people,  the 
year's  anniversary  falls  upon  a  Sunday,  when  the  public- 
houses  are  inexorably  closed,  when  singing  and  even 
whistling  is  banished  from  our  homes  and  highways, 
and  the  oldest  toper  feels  called  upon  to  go  to  church. 
Thus  pulled  about,  as  if  between  two  loyalties,  the 
Scotch  have  to  decide  many  nice  cases  of  conscience, 
and  ride  the  marches  narrowly  between  the  weekly  and 
the  annual  observance.  A  party  of  convivial  musicians, 
next  door  to  a  friend  of  mine,  hung  suspended  in  this 
manner  on  the  brink  of  their  diversions.  From  ten 
o'clock  on  Sunday  night,  my  friend  heard  them  tuning 
their  instruments ;  and  as  the  hour  of  liberty  drew  near, 
each  must  have  had  his  music  open,  his  bow  in  readi- 
ness across  the  fiddle,  his  foot  already  raised  to  mark 
the  time,  and  his  nerves  braced  for  execution ;  for  hardly 
had  the  twelfth  stroke  sounded  from  the  earliest  steeple, 
before  they  had  launched  forth  into  a  secular  bravura. 

Currant-loaf  is  now  popular  eating  in  all  households. 
For  weeks  before  the  great  morning,  confectioners  dis- 
play stacks  of  Scotch  bun  —  a  dense,  black  substance, 
inimical  to  life  —  and  full  moons  of  shortbread  adorned 
with  mottoes  of  peel  or  sugar-plum,  in  honour  of  the 

344 


WINTER  AND  NEW   YEAR 

season  and  the  family  affections.  "  Frae  Auld  Reekie," 
''  A  guid  New  Year  to  ye  a',"  ''For  the  Auld  Folk  at 
Hame,"  are  among  the  most  favoured  of  these  devices. 
Can  you  not  see  the  carrier,  after  half-a-day's  journey  on 
pinching  hill-roads,  draw  up  before  a  cottage  in  Teviot- 
dale,  or  perhaps  in  Manor  Glen  among  the  rowans,  and 
the  old  people  receiving  the  parcel  with  moist  eyes  and 
a  prayer  for  Jock  or  Jean  in  the  city  ?  For  at  this  season, 
on  the  threshold  of  another  year  of  calamity  and  stub- 
born conflict,  men  feel  a  need  to  draw  closer  the  links 
that  unite  them ;  they  reckon  the  number  of  their  friends, 
like  allies  before  a  war ;  and  the  prayers  grow  longer  in 
the  morning  as  the  absent  are  recommended  by  name 
into  God's  keeping. 

On  the  day  itself,  the  shops  are  all  shut  as  on  a  Sunday ; 
only  taverns,  toyshops,  and  other  holiday  magazines, 
keep  open  doors.  Every  one  looks  for  his  handsel. 
The  postmen  and  the  lamplighters  have  left,  at  every 
house  in  their  districts,  a  copy  of  vernacular  verses,  ask- 
ing and  thanking  in  a  breath ;  and  it  is  characteristic  of 
Scotland  that  these  verses  may  have  sometimes  a  touch 
of  reality  in  detail  or  sentiment  and  a  measure  of  strength 
in  the  handling.  All  over  the  town,  you  may  see  com- 
forter'd  schoolboys  hasting  to  squander  their  half- 
crowns.  There  are  an  infinity  of  visits  to  be  paid ;  all 
the  world  is  in  the  street,  except  the  daintier  classes; 
the  sacramental  greeting  is  heard  upon  all  sides ;  Auld 
Lang  Syne  is  much  in  people's  mouths;  and  whisky  and 
shortbread  are  staple  articles  of  consumption.  From  an 
early  hour  a  stranger  will  be  impressed  by  the  number 
of  drunken  men;  and  by  afternoon  drunkenness  has 
spread  to  the  women.     With  some  classes  of  society, 

345 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

it  is  as  much  a  matter  of  duty  to  drink  hard  on  New- 
year's  Day  as  to  go  to  church  on  Sunday.  Some  have 
been  saving  their  wages  for  perhaps  a  month  to  do  the 
season  honour.  Many  carry  a  whisky-bottle  in  their 
pocket,  which  they  will  press  with  embarrassing  effu- 
sion on  a  perfect  stranger.  It  is  inexpedient  to  risk 
one's  body  in  a  cab,  or  not,  at  least,  until  after  a  pro- 
longed study  of  the  driver.  The  streets,  which  are 
thronged  from  end  to  end,  become  a  place  for  delicate 
pilotage.  Singly  or  arm-in-arm,  some  speechless,  others 
noisy  and  quarrelsome,  the  votaries  of  the  New-year  go 
meandering  in  and  out  and  cannoning  one  against  an- 
other; and  now  and  again,  one  falls  and  lies  as  he  has 
fallen.  Before  night,  so  many  have  gone  to  bed  or  the 
police  office,  that  the  streets  seem  almost  clearer.  And 
asguisards  dind  first-footers  are  now  not  much  seen  ex- 
cept in  country  places,  when  once  the  New  Year  has 
been  rung  in  and  proclaimed  at  the  Tron  railings,  the 
festivities  begin  to  fmd  their  way  indoors  and  something 
like  quiet  returns  upon  the  town.  But  think,  in  these 
piled  lands,  of  all  the  senseless  snorers,  all  the  broken 
heads  and  empty  pockets ! 

Of  old,  Edinburgh  University  was  the  scene  of  heroic 
snowballing;  and  one  riot  obtained  the  epic  honours  of 
military  intervention.  But  the  great  generation,  I  am 
afraid,  is  at  an  end ;  and  even  during  my  own  college 
days,  the  spirit  appreciably  declined.  Skating  and  slid- 
ing, on  the  other  hand,  are  honoured  more  and  more; 
and  curling,  being  a  creature  of  the  national  genius,  is 
little  likely  to  be  disregarded.  The  patriotism  that  leads 
a  man  to  eat  Scotch  bun  will  scarce  desert  him  at  the 
curling-pond.     Edinburgh,  with  its  long,  steep  pave- 

346 


WINTER  AND  NEW   YEAR 

ments,  is  the  proper  home  of  sliders;  many  a  happy 
urchin  can  slide  the  whole  way  to  school ;  and  the  pro- 
fession of  errand  boy  is  transformed  into  a  holiday  amuse- 
ment. As  for  skating,  there  is  scarce  any  city  so  hand- 
somely provided.  Duddingstone  Loch  lies  under  the 
abrupt  southern  side  of  Arthur's  Seat;  in  summer,  a 
shield  of  blue,  with  swans  sailing  from  the  reeds;  in 
winter,  a  field  of  ringing  ice.  The  village  church  sits 
above  it  on  a  green  promontory ;  and  the  village  smoke 
rises  from  among  goodly  trees.  At  the  church  gates,  is 
the  historical  ybz^^,  a  place  of  penance  for  the  neck  of  de- 
tected sinners,  and  the  historical  louping-on  stane,  from 
which  Dutch-built  lairds  and  farmers  climbed  into  the 
saddle.  Here  Prince  Charlie  slept  before  the  battle  of 
Prestonpans ;  and  here  Deacon  Brodie,  or  one  of  his 
gang,  stole  a  plough  coulter  before  the  burglary  in 
Chessel's  Court.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  loch,  the 
ground  rises  to  Craigmillar  Castle,  a  place  friendly  to 
Stuart  Mariolaters.  It  is  worth  a  climb,  even  in  sum- 
mer, to  look  down  upon  the  loch  from  Arthur's  Seat; 
but  it  is  tenfold  more  so  on  a  day  of  skating.  The  sur- 
face is  thick  with  people  moving  easily  and  swiftly  and 
leaning  over  at  a  thousand  graceful  inclinations;  the 
crowd  opens  and  closes,  and  keeps  moving  through  it- 
self like  water;  and  the  ice  rings  to  half  a  mile  away, 
with  the  flying  steel.  As  night  draws  on,  the  single 
figures  melt  into  the  dusk,  until  only  an  obscure  stir  and 
coming  and  going  of  black  clusters,  is  visible  upon  the 
loch.  A  little  longer,  and  the  first  torch  is  kindled  and 
begins  to  flit  rapidly  across  the  ice  in  a  ring  of  yellow 
reflection,  and  this  is  followed  by  another  and  another, 
until  the  whole  field  is  full  of  skimming  lights. 

347 


CHAPTER  X 

TO  THE   PENTLAND   HILLS 

On  three  sides  of  Edinburgh,  the  country  slopes  down- 
ward from  the  city,  here  to  the  sea,  there  to  the  fat  farms 
of  Haddington,  there  to  the  mineral  fields  of  Linlithgow. 
On  the  south  alone,  it  keeps  rising  until  it  not  only  out- 
tops  the  Castle  but  looks  down  on  Arthur's  Seat.  The 
character  of  the  neighbourhood  is  pretty  strongly  marked 
by  a  scarcity  of  hedges ;  by  many  stone  walls  of  varying 
heights;  by  a  fair  amount  of  timber,  some  of  it  well 
grown,  but  apt  to  be  of  a  bushy,  northern  profile  and 
poor  in  foliage ;  by  here  and  there  a  little  river,  Esk  or 
Leith  or  Almond,  busily  journeying  in  the  bottom  of  its 
glen ;  and  from  almost  every  point,  by  a  peep  of  the  sea 
or  the  hills.  There  is  no  lack  of  variety,  and  yet  most 
of  the  elements  are  common  to  all  parts ;  and  the  south- 
ern district  is  alone  distinguished  by  considerable  sum- 
mits and  a  wide  view. 

From  Boroughmuirhead,  where  the  Scottish  army  en- 
camped before  Flodden,  the  road  descends  a  long  hill, 
at  the  bottom  of  which  and  just  as  it  is  preparing  to 
mount  upon  the  other  side,  it  passes  a  toll-bar  and  issues 
at  once  into  the  open  country.  Even  as  I  write  these 
words,  they  are  being  antiquated  in  the  progress  of 
events,  and  the  chisels  are  tinkling  on  a  new  row  of 

348 


TO  THE  PENTLAND   HILLS 

houses.  The  builders  have  at  length  adventured  beyond 
the  toll  which  held  them  in  respect  so  long,  and  proceed 
to  career  in  these  fresh  pastures  like  a  herd  of  colts  turned 
loose.  As  Lord  Beaconsfield  proposed  to  hang  an  ar- 
chitect by  way  of  stimulation,  a  man,  looking  on  these 
doomed  meads,  imagines  a  similar  example  to  deter  the 
builders ;  for  it  seems  as  if  it  must  come  to  an  open  fight 
at  last  to  preserve  a  corner  of  green  country  unbedevilled. 
And  here,  appropriately  enough,  there  stood  in  old  days 
a  crow-haunted  gibbet,  with  two  bodies  hanged  in 
chains.  1  used  to  be  shown,  when  a  child,  a  flat  stone 
in  the  roadway  to  which  the  gibbet  had  been  fixed. 
People  of  a  willing  fancy  were  persuaded,  and  sought 
to  persuade  others,  that  this  stone  was  never  dry.  And 
no  wonder,  they  would  add,  for  the  two  men  had  only 
stolen  fourpence  between  them. 

For  about  two  miles  the  road  climbs  upwards,  a  long 
hot  walk  in  summer  time.  You  reach  the  summit  at  a 
place  where  four  ways  meet,  beside  the  toll  of  Fairmile- 
head.  The  spot  is  breezy  and  agreeable  both  in  name 
and  aspect.  The  hills  are  close  by  across  a  valley :  Kirk 
Yetton,  with  its  long,  upright  scars  visible  as  far  as  Fife, 
and  Allermuir  the  tallest  on  this  side:  with  wood  and 
tilled  field  running  high  upon  their  borders,  and  haunches 
all  moulded  into  innumerable  glens  and  shelvings  and 
variegated  with  heather  and  fern.  The  air  comes  briskly 
and  sweetly  off  the  hills,  pure  from  the  elevation  and 
rustically  scented  by  the  upland  plants ;  and  even  at  the 
toll,  you  may  hear  the  curlew  calling  on  its  mate.  At 
certain  seasons,  when  the  gulls  desert  their  surfy  fore- 
lands, the  birds  of  sea  and  mountain  hunt  and  scream 
together  in  the  same  field  at  Fairmilehead.     The  winged, 

349 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

wild  things  intermix  their  wheelings,  the  seabirds  skim 
the  tree  tops  and  fish  among  the  furrows  of  the  plough. 
These  little  craft  of  air  are  at  home  in  all  the  world,  so 
long  as  they  cruise  in  their  own  element;  and  like  sai- 
lors, ask  but  food  and  water  from  the  shores  they  coast. 
Below,  over  a  stream,  the  road  passes  Bow  Bridge, 
now  a  dairy-farm,  but  once  a  distillery  of  whisky.  It 
chanced,  some  time  in  the  past  century,  that  the  dis- 
tiller was  on  terms  of  good-fellowship  with  the  visiting 
officer  of  excise.  The  latter  was  of  an  easy,  friendly 
disposition  and  a  master  of  convivial  arts.  Now  and 
again,  he  had  to  walk  out  of  Edinburgh  to  measure  the 
distiller's  stock ;  and  although  it  was  agreeable  to  find  his 
business  lead  him  in  a  friend's  direction,  it  was  unfor- 
tunate that  the  friend  should  be  a  loser  by  his  visits. 
Accordingly,  when  he  got  about  the  level  of  Fairmile- 
head,  the  gauger  would  take  his  flute,  without  which  he 
never  travelled,  from  his  pocket,  fit  it  together,  and  set 
manfully  to  playing,  as  if  for  his  own  delectation  and 
inspired  by  the  beauty  of  the  scene.  His  favourite  air, 
it  seems,  was  "Over  the  hills  and  far  away."  At  the 
first  note,  the  distiller  pricked  his  ears.  A  flute  at  Fair- 
milehead  ?  and  playing  "Over  the  hills  and  far  away  ? '* 
This  must  be  his  friendly  enemy,  the  gauger.  Instantly, 
horses  were  harnessed,  and  sundry  barrels  of  whisky 
were  got  upon  a  cart,  driven  at  a  gallop  round  Hill  End, 
and  buried  in  the  mossy  glen  behind  Kirk  Yetton.  In 
the  same  breath,  you  may  be  sure,  a  fat  fowl  was  put 
to  the  fire,  and  the  whitest  napery  prepared  for  the  back 
parlour.  A  little  after,  the  gauger,  having  had  his  fill 
of  music  for  the  moment,  came  strolling  down  with  the 
most  innocent  air  imaginable,  and  found  the  good  peo- 

350 


TO  THE  PENTLAND   HILLS 

pie  at  Bow  Bridge  taken  entirely  unawares  by  his  ar- 
rival, but  none  the  less  glad  to  see  him.  The  distiller's 
liquor  and  the  ganger's  flute  would  combine  to  speed 
the  moments  of  digestion ;  and  when  both  were  some- 
what mellow,  they  would  wind  up  the  evening  with 
"Over  the  hills  and  far  away  "  to  an  accompaniment  of 
knowing  glances.  And  at  least,  there  is  a  smuggling 
story,  with  original  and  half-idyllic  features. 

A  little  further,  the  road  to  the  right  passes  an  upright 
stone  in  a  field.  The  country  people  call  it  General 
Kay's  monument.  According  to  them,  an  officer  of  that 
name  had  perished  there  in  battle  at  some  indistinct 
period  before  the  beginning  of  history.  The  date  is  re- 
assuring; for  I  think  cautious  writers  are  silent  on  the 
General's  exploits.  But  the  stone  is  connected  with  one 
of  those  remarkable  tenures  of  land  which  linger  on  into 
the  modern  world  from  Feudalism.  Whenever  the  reign- 
ing sovereign  passes  by,  a  certain  landed  proprietor  is 
held  bound  to  climb  On  to  the  top,  trumpet  in  hand,  and 
sound  a  flourish  according  to  the  measure  of  his  know- 
ledge in  that  art.  Happily  for  a  respectable  family, 
crowned  heads  have  no  great  business  in  the  Pentland 
Hills.  But  the  story  lends  a  character  of  comicality  to 
the  stone ;  and  the  passer-by  will  sometimes  chuckle  to 
himself 

The  district  is  dear  to  the  superstitious.  Hard  by,  at 
the  back-gate  of  Comiston,  a  belated  carter  beheld  a  lady 
in  white,  ''with  the  most  beautiful,  clear  shoes  upon 
her  feet,"  who  looked  upon  him  in  a  very  ghastly  man- 
ner and  then  vanished;  and  just  in  front  is  the  Hunters' 
Tryst,  once  a  roadside  inn,  and  not  so  long  ago  haunted 
by  the  devil  in  person.   Satan  led  the  inhabitants  a  piti- 

351 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

ful  existence.  He  shook  the  four  corners  of  the  building 
with  lamentable  outcries,  beat  at  the  doors  and  win- 
dows, overthrew  crockery  in  the  dead  hours  of  the 
morning,  and  danced  unholy  dances  on  the  roof.  Every 
kind  of  spiritual  disinfectant  was  put  in  requisition  ; 
chosen  ministers  were  summoned  out  of  Edinburgh 
and  prayed  by  the  hour;  pious  neighbours  sat  up  all 
night  making  a  noise  of  psalmody;  but  Satan  minded 
them  no  more  than  the  wind  about  the  hill-tops ;  and  it 
was  only  after  years  of  persecution,  that  he  left  the 
Hunters'  Tryst  in  peace  to  occupy  himself  with  the  re- 
mainder of  mankind.  What  with  General  Kay,  and  the 
white  lady,  and  this  singular  visitation,  the  neighbour- 
hood offers  great  facilities  to  the  makers  of  sun-myths; 
and  without  exactly  casting  in  one's  lot  with  that  dis- 
enchanting school  of  writers,  one  cannot  help  hearing  a 
good  deal  of  the  winter  wind  in  the  last  story.  "  That 
nicht,"  says  Burns,  in  one  of  his  happiest  moments, — 


That  nicht  a  child  might  understand 
The  deil  had  btisiness  on  his  hand." 


And  if  people  sit  up  all  night  in  lone  places  on  the  hills, 
with  Bibles  and  tremulous  psalms^  they  will  be  apt  to 
hear  some  of  the  most  fiendish  noises  in  the  world:  the 
wind  will  beat  on  doors  and  dance  upon  roofs  for  them, 
and  make  the  hills  howl  around  their  cottage  with  a 
clamour  like  the  judgment-day. 

The  road  goes  down  through  another  valley,  and  then 
finally  begins  to  scale  the  main  slope  of  the  Pentlands.  A 
bouquet  of  old  trees  stands  round  a  white  farmhouse ; 
and  from  a  neighbouring  dell,  you  can  see  smoke  rising 

352 


TO  THE    PENTLAND   HILLS 

and  leaves  ruffling  in  the  breeze.  Straight  above,  the 
hills  climb  a  thousand  feet  into  the  air.  The  neighbour- 
hood, about  the  time  of  lambs,  is  clamorous  with  the 
bleating  of  flocks ;  and  you  will  be  awakened,  in  the 
grey  of  early  summer  mornings,  by  the  barking  of  a  dog 
or  the  voice  of  a  shepherd  shouting  to  the  echoes.  This, 
with  the  hamlet  lying  behind  unseen,  is  Swanston. 

The  place  in  the  dell  is  immediately  connected  with 
the  city.  Long  ago,  this  sheltered  field  was  purchased 
by  the  Edinburgh  magistrates  for  the  sake  of  the  springs 
that  rise  or  gather  there.  After  they  had  built  their 
water-house  and  laid  their  pipes,  it  occurred  to  them 
that  the  place  was  suitable  for  junketing.  Once  enter- 
tained, with  jovial  magistrates  and  public  funds,  the  idea 
led  speedily  to  accomplishment;  and  Edinburgh  could 
soon  boast  of  a  municipal  Pleasure  House.  The  dell  was 
turned  into  a  garden;  and  on  the  knoll  that  shelters  it 
from  the  plain  and  the  sea  winds,  they  built  a  cottage 
looking  to  the  hills.  They  brought  crockets  and  gar- 
goyles from  old  St.  Giles's  which  they  were  then  restor- 
ing, and  disposed  them  on  the  gables  and  over  the  door 
and  about  the  garden ;  and  the  quarry  which  had  sup- 
plied them  with  building  material,  they  draped  with 
clematis  and  carpeted  with  beds  of  roses.  So  much  for 
the  pleasure  of  the  eye ;  for  creature  comfort,  they  made 
a  capacious  cellar  in  the  hillside  and  fitted  it  with  bins 
of  the  hewn  stone.  In  process  of  time,  the  trees  grew 
higher  and  gave  shade  to  the  cottage,  and  the  evergreens 
sprang  up  and  turned  the  dell  into  a  thicket.  There, 
purple  magistrates  relaxed  themselves  from  the  pursuit  of 
municipal  ambition ;  cocked  hats  paraded  soberly  about 
the  garden  and  in  and  out  among  the  hollies;  authori- 

353 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

tative  canes  drew  ciphering  upon  the  path ;  and  at  night, 
from  high  upon  the  hills,  a  shepherd  saw  lighted  win- 
dows through  the  foliage  and  heard  the  voice  of  city 
dignitaries  raised  in  song. 

The  farm  is  older.  It  was  first  a  grange  of  Whitekirk 
Abbey,  tilled  and  inhabited  by  rosy  friars.  Thence,  after 
the  Reformation,  it  passed  into  the  hands  of  a  true-blue 
Protestant  family.  During  the  Covenanting  troubles, 
when  a  night  conventicle  was  held  upon  the  Pentlands, 
the  farm  doors  stood  hospitably  open  till  the  morning; 
the  dresser  was  laden  with  cheese  and  bannocks,  milk 
and  brandy;  and  the  worshippers  kept  slipping  down 
from  the  hill  between  two  exercises,  as  couples  visit  the 
supper-room  between  two  dances  of  a  modern  ball.  In 
the  Forty-five,  some  foraging  Highlanders  from  Prince 
Charlie's  army  fell  upon  Swanston  in  the  dawn.  The 
great-grandfather  of  the  late  farmer  was  then  a  little 
child;  him  they  awakened  by  plucking  the  blankets 
from  his  bed,  and  he  remembered,  when  he  was  an  old 
man,  their  truculent  looks  and  uncouth  speech.  The 
churn  stood  full  of  cream  in  the  dairy,  and  with  this 
they  made  their  brose  in  high  delight.  ''It  was  braw 
brose,"  said  one  of  them.  At  last,  they  made  off,  laden 
like  camels  with  their  booty;  and  Swanston  Farm  has 
lain  out  of  the  way  of  history  from  that  time  forward. 
1  do  not  know  what  may  be  yet  in  store  for  it.  On 
dark  days,  when  the  mist  runs  low  upon  the  hill,  the 
house  has  a  gloomy  air  as  if  suitable  for  private  tragedy. 
But  in  hot  July,  you  can  fancy  nothing  more  perfect 
than  the  garden,  laid  out  in  alleys  and  arbours  and 
bright,  old-fashioned  flower-plots,  and  ending  in  a 
miniature  ravine,  all  trellis-work  and  moss  and  tinkling 

354 


TO  THE  PENTLAND   HILLS 

waterfall,  and  housed  from  the  sun  under  fathoms  of 
broad  foliage. 

The  hamlet  behind  is  one  of  the  least  considerable  of 
hamlets,  and  consists  of  a  few  cottages  on  a  green  be- 
side a  burn.  Some  of  them  (a  strange  thing  in  Scot- 
land) are  models  of  internal  neatness ;  the  beds  adorned 
with  patchwork,  the  shelves  arrayed  with  willow- 
pattern  plates,  the  floors  and  tables  bright  with  scrub- 
bing or  pipeclay,  and  the  very  kettle  polished  like  silver. 
It  is  the  sign  of  a  contented  old  age  in  country  places, 
where  there  is  little  matter  for  gossip  and  no  street 
sights.  Housework  becomes  an  art;  and  at  evening, 
when  the  cottage  interior  shines  and  twinkles  in  the 
glow  of  the  fire,  the  housewife  folds  her  hands  and  con- 
templates her  finished  picture;  the  snow  and  the  wind 
may  do  their  worst,  she  has  made  herself  a  pleasant 
corner  in  the  world.  The  city  might  be  a  thousand 
miles  away:  and  yet  it  was  from  close  by  that  Mr. 
Bough  painted  the  distant  view  of  Edinburgh  which  has 
been  engraved  for  this  collection :  and  you  have  only  to 
look  at  the  cut,  to  see  how  near  it  is  at  hand.  But  hills 
and  hill  people  are  not  easily  sophisticated;  and  if  you 
walk  out  here  on  a  summer  Sunday,  it  is  as  like  as  not 
the  shepherd  may  set  his  dogs  upon  you.  But  keep  an 
unmoved  countenance;  they  look  formidable  at  the 
charge,  but  their  hearts  are  in  the  right  place ;  and  they 
will  only  bark  and  sprawl  about  you  on  the  grass,  un- 
mindful of  their  master's  excitations. 

Kirk  Yetton  forms  the  north-eastern  angle  of  the 
range;  thence,  the  Pentlands  trend  off  to  south  and 
west.  From  the  summit  you  look  over  a  great  expanse 
of  champaign  sloping  to  the  sea  and  behold  a  large  vari- 

355 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

ety  of  distant  hills.  There  are  the  hills  of  Fife,  the  hills 
of  Peebles,  the  Lammermoors  and  the  Ochils,  more  or 
less  mountainous  in  outline,  more  or  less  blue  with  dis- 
tance. Of  the  Pentlands  themselves,  you  see  a  field  of 
wild  heathery  peaks  with  a  pond  gleaming  in  the  midst; 
and  to  that  side  the  view  is  as  desolate  as  if  you  were 
looking  into  Galloway  or  Applecross.  To  turn  to  the 
other,  is  like  a  piece  of  travel.  Far  out  in  the  lowlands 
Edinburgh  shows  herself,  making  a  great  smoke  on  clear 
days  and  spreading  her  suburbs  about  her  for  miles ;  the 
Castle  rises  darkly  in  the  midst;  and  close  by,  Arthur's 
Seat  makes  a  bold  figure  in  the  landscape.  All  around, 
cultivated  fields,  and  woods,  and  smoking  villages,  and 
white  country  roads,  diversify  the  uneven  surface  of  the 
land.  Trains  crawl  slowly  abroad  upon  the  railway 
lines ;  little  ships  are  tacking  in  the  Firth ;  the  shadow 
of  a  mountainous  cloud,  as  large  as  a  parish,  travels  be- 
fore the  wind;  the  wind  itself  ruffles  the  wood  and 
standing  corn,  and  sends  pulses  of  varying  colour  across 
the  landscape.  So  you  sit,  like  Jupiter  upon  Olympus, 
and  look  down  from  afar  upon  men's  life.  The  city  is 
as  silent  as  a  city  of  the  dead :  from  all  its  humming 
thoroughfares,  not  a  voice,  not  a  footfall,  reaches  you 
upon  the  hill.  The  sea  surf,  the  cries  of  ploughmen, 
the  streams  and  the  mill-wheels,  the  birds  and  the  wind, 
keep  up  an  animated  concert  through  the  plain;  from 
farm  to  farm,  dogs  and  crowing  cocks  contend  together 
in  defiance ;  and  yet  from  this  Olympian  station,  except 
for  the  whispering  rumour  of  a  train,  the  world  has  fallen 
into  a  dead  silence  and  the  business  of  town  and  country 
grown  voiceless  in  your  ears.  A  crying  hill-bird,  the 
bleat  of  a  sheep,  a  wind  singing  in  the  dry  grass,  seem 


TO  THE   PENTLAND   HILLS 

not  SO  much  to  interrupt,  as  to  accompany,  the  stillness ; 
but  to  the  spiritual  ear,  the  whole  scene  makes  a  music 
at  once  human  and  rural,  and  discourses  pleasant  reflec- 
tions on  the  destiny  of  man.  The  spiry  habitable  city, 
ships,  the  divided  fields,  and  browsing  herds,  and  the 
straight  highways,  tell  visibly  of  man's  active  and  com- 
fortable ways;  and  you  may  be  never  so  laggard  and 
never  so  unimpressionable,  but  there  is  something  in  the 
view  that  spirits  up  your  blood  and  puts  you  in  the  vein 
for  cheerful  labour. 

Immediately  below  is  Fairmilehead,  a  spot  of  roof  and 
a  smoking  chimney,  where  two  roads,  no  thicker  than 
packthread,  intersect  beside  a  hanging  wood.  If  you 
are  fanciful,  you  will  be  reminded  of  the  gauger  in  the 
story.  And  the  thought  of  this  old  exciseman,  who 
once  lipped  and  fingered  on  his  pipe  and  uttered  clear 
notes  from  it  in  the  mountain  air,  and  the  words  of  the 
song  he  affected,  carry  your  mind  "Over  the  hills  and 
far  away  "  to  distant  countries ;  and  you  have  a  vision 
of  Edinburgh  not,  as  you  see  her,  in  the  midst  of  a  little 
neighbourhood,  but  as  a  boss  upon  the  round  world 
with  all  Europe  and  the  deep  sea  for  her  surroundings. 
For  every  place  is  a  centre  to  the  earth,  whence  high- 
ways radiate  or  ships  set  sail  for  foreign  ports ;  the  limit 
of  a  parish  is  not  more  imaginary  than  the  frontier  of  an 
empire ;  and  as  a  man  sitting  at  home  in  his  cabinet  and 
swiftly  writing  books,  so  a  city  sends  abroad  an  influ- 
ence and  a  portrait  of  herself.  There  is  no  Edinburgh 
emigrant,  far  or  near,  from  China  to  Peru,  but  he  or  she 
carries  some  lively  pictures  of  the  mind,  some  sunset 
behind  the  Castle  cliffs,  some  snow  scene,  some  maze 
of  city  lamps,  indelible  in  the  memory  and  delightful 

357 


PICTURESQUE  NOTES  ON   EDINBURGH 

to  Study  in  the  intervals  of  toil.  For  any  such,  if  this 
book  fall  in  their  way,  here  are  a  few  more  home  pic- 
tures. It  would  be  pleasant,  if  they  should  recognise 
a  house  where  they  had  dwelt,  or  a  walk  that  they  had 
taken. 


358 


V.   IZ- 


